


Humaniora I

by ceciliasobral



Series: Humaniora [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Next Generation, Harry Potter Next-Gen, Next Generation, Next-Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-05-29 23:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15084296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceciliasobral/pseuds/ceciliasobral
Summary: It's 2015. One summer night, seventeen year old Teddy makes the drunken mistake of snogging fourteen year old Victoire, setting off a chain of events that will take them both further than they ever imagined. Meanwhile, Fred, Dominique, Roxanne and James are really into Quidditch, and Molly is really into potion brewing.





	1. Chapter 1

**DOMINIQUE**

"You know what I've heard?" said James, whispering conspiratorially to his cousins. _What_ , mumbled Fred, eating what was probably his tenth butterscotch. "I've heard that this year," he paused, "there's finally going to be another Triwizard Tournament."  
Dominique furrowed her brows. "Coddswallop," she said. "They're never going to bring it back. D'you even remember what happened, last time?" the girl asked.  
"Yeah, considering my dad won it, I think I bloody do, thank you," her cousin replied, with a mocking, longlashed gaze.  
Dominique narrowed her eyes, in annoyance. "Well then you'll remember that your dad almost bloody _died_?" she asked him. "And that Diggory did die?" she continued, lowering her voice at the mention of a name that she knew still pulled at her aunts' and uncles' heart strings.  
James remained unconvinced. "Yeah, but they had a mass murdering maniac after them, didn't they?" he asked. "We don't."  
Fred cut in. "You don't know that."  
"What?" asked James.  
"You don't know that." Fred repeated. "We could have. A mass murdering maniac after us, I mean."  
After a second of silence, James elected to ignore his cousin's contributions to the conversation thus far. "Anyway, as I was saying, my sources tell me that this year," he continued, giddy with excitement, "they're really going to bring it back!"  
"Your _sources_?" said a voice, from behind them. It belonged to Dominique's older sister, Victoire, sitting snuggly in the other corner of the sofa with a book on her long legs. She was always the least impressed by James' shenanigans, and that evening was no exception.  
"Yes, my _sources_ ," insisted James, with a hint of aggression in his tone.  
Roxanne, who had been watching the conversation with silent excitement, could control herself no longer. "Come on, James! Tell them what it's gonna be like this year!" she said, ecstatic.  
James smiled, deeply self-content. "Well, word on the street _is_ ," he began.  
The voice of their older would-be-cousin, Teddy, suddenly imposed itself. "Word on the street is," he said, smiling like a condescending older brother, "you're a silly little bugger who believes anything he hears." At James' indignant look, Teddy continued. "There's not going to be a tournament. Don't you think I'd know? I am the only one here who's old enough to compete, after all," he explained.  
"Well my dad competed when he was..." intercut James.  
"Your dad had a mass murdering maniac after him, didn't he?" said Teddy, with his signature crooked smile. "We don't." Seeing that young James was becoming distraught at having his fantasy ruined, Teddy changed his approach. "Settle down, Jamie, you don't need a bid international tournament on your first year at Hogwarts to make it a good one," he said, ruffling James' hair. _Sure would help_ , the boy mumbled.  
Roxanne smacked her cousin on the shoulder. "You bloody said there'd be a tournament!" she complained.  
Teddy intervened. "Well, there won't be, Roxanne, but you know what there will be? This year, at Hogwarts? A brand new, stronger than ever Hufflepuff Quidditch team, sure to win the cup. I'm sure you two will be cheering for it hysterically, as you'll no doubt be sorted into my great house," said Teddy, half-joking, half-not.  
Fred snortled. "Fat chance. Besides, Hufflepuff has as much of a chance of winning as I do of..." His face was immediately covered by one of Teddy's large hands, provoking laughter in James, Roxanne and Dominique - and even in Victoire, if Dominique's peripheral vision proved accurate.  
"Don't listen to him. Poor boy doesn't know what he's saying."  
Fred managed to free his face of Teddy's grasp. "I do, actually?" he rebuked. "Because this year, both the Gryffindor and the Ravenclaw team are about to get astoundingly better," he said, smirking with symmetrical dimples that he shared with his younger sister.  
"Oh yeah?" Teddy asked. "And could that be because they are getting two _riveting_ new players?"  
Dominique smiled. "You got that right." Though her separation from her cousin at Hogwarts had once been a source of great dismay, it soon became the exciting promise of a real Quidditch rivalry. Besides, though Ravenclaw and Gryffindor did not always have coinciding schedules, they managed to spend time together on most days.  
"So Hufflepuff's task is about to get a whole lot more difficult," said Fred.  
Teddy laughed. "I'm shaking already," he said, having in the meanwhile begun to walk away, heading towards the adults.  
Dominique watched him go. He'd grown even taller, measuring at a little over six feet. But there was nothing left of his awkward, teenage lankiness, Dominique thought, as she saw him seamlessly slip into Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron's conversation about Ministry business. He could almost look like a Ministry employee himself, if it weren't for his bright blue hair, tight jeans and denim jacket covered with patches of weird bands Dominique had never heard of. A weird one, that Teddy.  
Dominique sighed, as her mind wandered elsewhere. Though her cousins kept chatting gleefully about this thing and the other, the young twelve year old girl's thoughts were wrapped in aprehension.  
She did want to join the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. She'd wanted to be part of a Quidditch team ever since she was five years old and had ridden a broom for the first time. During her first year at Hogwarts, she'd died of anticipatory anxiety, thinking about when she actually would get to try out for the team. _Next year, next year, next year_. Now next year had come. And though Dominique deeply wanted to be a part of the team, she was not too certain that she'd be joining the right team.  
Being sorted into Ravenclaw had been...a mixed experience. Her sister's tight, proud hug had felt asfixiating, and had filled Dominique with the overwhelming dread that she had been put in the wrong house. She had been a hat-stall, after all. It was perfectly possible that the Sorting Hat had got it wrong. But she had told herself - _no point in bloody wondering. You're here, you're here. You must be here for a reason_.  
A year past, she still had no clue what that reason was, though. I mean, yes, she was smart, and quite a promising witch, alright, but so had Aunt Hermione been! And she'd been sorted into Gryffindor! Dominique could find absolutely nothing in common with the girls in her house. To her they all looked like a large mass of pretty faces, prim poses, and petty spirits - especially her cousin Molly. Though of the same age and house, the two simply could not get along - Dominique's messy, loud self got on Molly's nerves like no other. Though there wasn't much that _didn't_ get on her cousin's nerves. It was no wonder that the petite, freckled girl didn't have any friends.  
The same could not be said for her sister Victoire, of course - who, though beautiful and obsessively neat, was, in Dominique's opinion, a very nice and moderately sociable person, with whom she generally got along, despite their differences. And there were _a lot_ of differences - one could almost say the Veela gene had skipped her.  
Truth of the matter was, Dominique was boyish, brutish, and boisterous - most days she felt like an ill-shaped chicken fluttering amongst long, elegant flamingos. Always falling short of her mother's expectations - unlike Victoire and their younger brother Louis, who lived to meet them.  
"Dinner's ready!" yelled Grandma Molly, from the kitchen. James bolted from his seat beside her.  
She did have a rather close-knit relationship with her father, though. Dominique's cool, war hero, curse-breaker-in-Egypt father more than made up for her lack of a connection with her mother. Even if he was away at work most of the time. Dominique hardly even noticed it, anymore, since she had entered Hogwarts. But she supposed it must be hard for her mother.  
Regardless, her parents looked as lovey-dovey as ever, sitting at the dinner table far closer than they necessarily had to. Dominique slumped into her seat.  
"You alright?" her cousin Roxanne asked, from the seat beside her. It was very considerate of her to be so observant, Dominique thought. She liked Roxanne quite a lot - and the fact that they got along so well thoroughly validated Dominique's femininity. Roxanne was a girl, too, and she was just as roudy and sporty as Dominique was. She wondered what house her cousin would be sorted into. Probably Gryffindor, just like her older brother. And so would James, no doubt. And everybody would be in bloody Gryffindor and Dominique would remain the weird, drifting plastic bag that she was, in an ocean of tall, skinny, proper jellyfish.  
"Yeah, I'm alright," she replied. "Bit tired, is all."  
"Roxie, James, you two excited?" asked Uncle Ron, as he simultaneously tried to convince his daughter Rose not to help her younger brother use his cutlery. _Well he needs to learn_ , he whispered at his protesting wife.  
"Yeah!" answered James, a bit too loudly. "Loads!"  
Roxanne nodded in agreement. Dominique knew she didn't quite like it when people called her Roxie.  
"You have a big legacy to follow, you know," Uncle Ron told Roxanne, pointing at her father with his elbow. "And since your brother isn't living up to it," he added, with mocking disapproval, "I guess it's all up to you and James."  
"Well and I have a big legacy, too!" James protested. "I'm also named after a famous prankster," he said, before being shushed by his mother. Dominique cringed internally. In those rare cases when someone did let slip a reference to their deceased uncle Fred, a heavy silence fell upon them which lasted for several minutes. Thankfully this was not the case, Dominique thought, as she saw that her Uncle George had been all the while busy discussing Wizard Wheezes products with Albus and Louis.  
"They might not even be sorted into Gryffindor, though," her sister Victoire added.  
Uncle Ron wagged his fork at her. "Victoire, I will not have that kind of negativity in this house," he warned, jokingly.  
Grandma Molly intervened. "Well _this house_ is not yours to govern, Ronald," she admonished. "Besides, I'm sure James and Roxanne will make a wonderful addition to whatever house they're sorted into," she said, smiling. "Though, hopefully, Gryffindor," she added, provoking laughter in those who could hear her amongst the familial chaos. Thankfully, Teddy was not one of them, even though he was sitting right next to Grandma Molly - because he had, for the past few minutes, been attentively listening to one of Lily's whimsical theatre plots. Though only seven, the youngest of the Potter family had a personality that could fill up a room. That is, if everybody could hear her in said room - which was definitely not the case, at that moment.  
"This is good," Uncle Harry told Grandma Molly, pointing to the food on his plate. Everybody immediately agreed, putting a smile on the matriarch's face.

 

**VICTOIRE**

 

"Oh, come on, Victoire, my dear, do grab a bit more roast!" her Grandmother said, urging her towards the colossal tray of home-made lamb roast, topped with butter gravy and a wide assortment of vegetables. Victoire smiled uncomfortably, unsure of how to reply.  
"There, there, Molly, don't you see our young Victoire is watching her figure?" joked Teddy, who had just finished listening to one of Lily's stories. Victoire became even more unsure of what to do, and cursed her pale, blushing complexion.  
Mrs. Weasley made a sound of disapproval. "Watching her figure! Girl's barely fourteen years old, she needs to eat, needs to grow!"  
"Gonna grow sideways, if she doesn't watch it," mumbled James, before being elbowed harshly by his cousin, Roxanne.  
Mrs. Weasley persisted. "Here you go, dear, some nice vegetables." Victoire sighed in defeat, cutting up the additions to her plate into smaller bits. If she ate slowly enough, she could make them disappear discreetly, she was sure. _Not to worry._  
"Victoire," her cousin Molly said. Sitting right next to her, the younger girl had been dead quiet since the beginning of supper - though that wasn't entirely unexpected, when it came to Molly. "Could I ask you for a rather big favour?" she asked, tucking her short, pin-straight red hair behind her small, delicate ear.  
"Sure," Victoire replied. It wasn't everyday that she got to interact with her cousin Molly, who was a very reserved (and often times not very nice) person, in general. Victoire was deeply curious as to what her cousin wanted.  
The girl was clearly taking advantage of the ruckus around them to speak without being heard by anybody other than Victoire. "Well, as you know, I'm quite competent at potion brewing, for my level," she began, and Victoire nodded automatically, though a part of her cringed at the lack of modesty. "But I'd like to be even better. I'd like to be quite extraordinary," she said, with intense, dark green eyes. "I'm very passionate about potion brewing," she explained, breaking eye contact.  
"Alright," Victoire replied. "How can I help?"  
"Well, since you're two years older than me, and you are, as far as I can see, quite competent yourself, I'd like you to tutor me. Throughout this school year," Molly laid out.  
The question of "Why not ask Professor Munkwell?" arose in her head, but immediately found an answer in her thoughts: she wanted her teacher to think her merit bigger than it actually was. Victoire frowned internally. This was not entirely morally correct. But, on the other hand...this was her cousin, her anti-social, generally not-very-happy-looking cousin. And it wasn't like Molly would be cheating off of Victoire's tests. She'd simply be learning from her.  
"Yeah, sure," she finally replied. "I can do that." This would be good; it would give her an opportunity to finally connect with her cousin, and perhaps help her in some non-academic way.  
"Thank you," Molly smiled, with pearly, sharp teeth. "I'll owl you closer to the start of term, to arrange the specifics."  
Victoire nodded. Her cousin's rigid, somewhat petulant formality had always struck her as slightly ridiculous. From what she could see, she had gotten it from her father, her Uncle Percy. And probably from her mother Audrey as well, though the woman didn't quite match her husband's level. Molly's younger sister Lucy, however, retained not a drop of this feature - though perhaps, at nine years of age, it was too early to tell.  
"Are you excited for your other classes?" Victoire asked, taking this opportunity to get to know Molly a little bit better. The Percy branch of the family was the one she was least familiar with: they were quiet, reserved, and often absent. Victoire had often wondered why.  
Molly hesitated, but decided to humour her. "Yes, terribly. Second year is a very important year, after all," she said.  
Victoire nodded. "Last year before you choose your electives. Have you thought about which ones you'll pick?"  
Molly drew the hint of a smile. "Haven't really thought about much else all Summer. So far, I'm set on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes."  
Victoire smiled brightly. "Arithmancy is fantastic."  
"Yes, well, eitherway, I just don't really see the point of any of the other electives," Molly continued. "Divination is pure rubbish. Care for Magical Creatures is irrelevant to my interests. And, to be honest, I don't even know why we still have Muggle Studies," she confessed.  
"Well, some people are quite interested in Muggles," noted Victoire. "You know, like our grandfather," she said, nodding towards a smiling, aging Arthur Weasley.  
Molly was unconvinced. "Yes, well, he's rather the exception, I think."  
Victoire was afraid of arousing displeasure in her cousin, and of ruining the precarious geniality recently formed. "Perhaps," she conceded.  
For a moment, she thought she could spy out of the corner of her eye an observant Teddy - but when she turned her head to look, he was talking amiably to Grandma Molly, and seemed to have been doing so non-stop for the last few minutes.  
Victoire, too, took advantage of the loud mess around her - and managed to lay her napkin on her lap, spilling bits of buttery vegetables onto it. As her father made a point of complaining loudly about another one of Uncle Charlie's absences, Victoire slowly folded the napkin on her lap and tucked it safely away in her pocket. She breathed a delicate sigh of relief.  
"And now: dessert!" announced her Grandmother, running off to the kitchen. Victoire restrained herself from rolling her eyes.  
"It's a very special dessert," said her Aunt Ginny, "because Ron's made it."  
Her Aunt Hermione turned to look at her husband, astonished. "Always the look of surprise," Uncle Ron said.  
Aunt Hermione chuckled. "Make dessert more often and the look will go away," she joked.  
"Maybe I will," her husband rebuked.  
Uncle Harry intervened. "Hermione, I really think you should try the cake before striking that bargain."  
"Well think of it this way," proposed Teddy, stretching in his seat. "If it's bad enough, you won't have to live with the consequences of your bargain, because you'll be dead," he said, making James roar with laughter. Victoire did roll her eyes that time. James was always so impressionable when it came to Teddy's silly jokes - well, he was impressionable when it came to Teddy, in general.  
"I'll remember that," said Uncle Ron. Teddy only smiled, his green, almond-shaped eyes crinkling with small laugh lines.  
"Here it is," said Grandma Molly, laying a five-tier, multi-coloured cake on the table.  
"Blimey," said Uncle Harry. "It looks very...festive."  
"I was feeling inspired," Uncle Ron admitted.  
Grandpa Arthur reached out to cut the cake into slices. "Well, let's hope your inspiration reveals itself in the taste, as well," he said. Aunt Hermione was smiling tight-lipped, whilst stroking her husband's upper arm.  
The whole family having been served, they dug in. Victoire took the smallest bite she could manage without drawing unwanted attention. She was sure she could pass on eating the whole thing without much harrassment, though.  
"It's...good," Aunt Hermione said, making her husband smile, tentatively.  
"It's absolutely bloody rubbish, mate," said her Uncle George, earning a smack on the arm from his wife Angelina. "Well, it is!" he protested. "He's got to know, I can't just let his family suffer! I wouldn't be able to live with myself."  
Uncle Ron was looking expectantly at everyone else, his ears red as a beet. Uncle Harry cleared his throat, earning his life-long friend's full attention. "Well, it could use some improvement... but it's quite alright," he said, though Victoire was positively certain he was lying.  
"Thank you," Uncle Ron said, looking side-eyed at Uncle George - who was about to pitch in once more before his wife decided to intervene.  
"I think it's quite lovely, Ron," Aunt Angelina said, smiling sweetly.  
"Most importantly, though," said Teddy, who had abstained from commenting on the cake, "have you prepared your actual speciality?"  
"Yes I have, Teddy, thank you for reminding me," her Uncle said, and left the table only to return a minute later, levitating a large number of glasses filled with the traditional, alcohol-free firewhiskey.  
_Ah, good, more sugar_ , Victoire thought.  
"My son occasionally likes to pretend he's drinking the real thing," Aunt Ginny said, nodding towards a disgruntled James. "Acts all roudy. It's the funniest thing," she said, smiling along with her husband Harry.  
"I do not!" James protested.  
"He can't possibily get any roudier than he already is, Ginny," said Teddy. "I think you've misunderstood your child." James agreed, emphatically.  
With a drink in their hand, the family began to disband, flocking in groups to this corner or the other. Seeing that Molly was planning on sticking close to her parents, Victoire decided to join her sister Dominique and their cousins James, Fred and Roxanne by the stairs.  
"We need a bloody plan," Fred sighed.  
"Plan?" asked James. "Plan for what?"  
"Dominique and I, I mean," Fred explained. "For the Quidditch try-outs. We need some sort of plan."  
"Honestly, I think we'll be fine," Dominique said.  
"Well but what if they throw some sort of curve ball at us?" Fred asked, with slumped shoulders.  
"Surely they won't," Victoire replied. "And even if they do, I'm sure you two will deal with it exemplarly," she reassured them. "You're both excellent fliers," Victoire said, smiling.  
Her sister made a prolongued Awww sound in response.  
"Cheers, Victoire," answered Fred, though sadness remained in his expression.  
"Wish we could go practice now, though," Dominique said.  
Roxanne was enthused at the idea. "Yeah! Let's go! Why can't we?"  
"Because it's nightime, you silly git," her brother said, slapping her delicately on the shoulder. "We'd crash onto the bloody roof."  
"Alright, everybody, gather round, gather round," said Uncle George, loud enough for the entire Potter-Weasley family to hear him. He was holding a mysterious bag in his hands, which drew the crowd in. "The game's the following: we all sit in a circle. Come one, sit in a circle, quickly."  
Victoire hurried near the fireplace - alas, Teddy had had the very same idea. Realising her hesitation, he said, amused: "I won't bite." She frowned slightly at him, sitting with crossed legs and a perfectly straight back.  
"Now, on the count of three, I'm going to throw this set of enchanted coins into the air," he said, revealing the contents of his bag, "and they're all going to start flying around each other, faster and faster. One of them is going to turn blue eventually, though it will harder to spot as time goes by and the coins move quicker and quicker. The first to grab hold of the blue coin, wins. The first to get tragically punched in the nose also wins. Begin!" he exclaimed, gleefully, as he threw a fistful of coins into the air. What followed, naturally, was chaos. To Mrs. Weasley's utter outrage, many of the child-friendly firewhiskey glasses had ended up spilling onto the floor, and the game finished with a hissy fit from Hugo, who had not only managed to grab the blue coin but also to be smacked in the eye by his cousin Lily. Despite his Uncle George's best efforts to explain to him how he had been twice a winner, the small, freckled seven year old boy remained unconvinced.  
Victoire rose, ready to join an already departing James, Roxanne, Fred and Dominique - but was enveloped in her mother's embrace before she could do so. "Alrrright, ma chérie?" she asked, and Victoire nodded as she felt her mother's intense, floral perfume. Holding her closer, her mother switched to French. "I think you do very well to watch your figure," she told her. "Don't let Grandma Molly bully you into growing all chubby. You're beautiful as you are, delicate and small," her mother said, planting a kiss on her temple.  
"Oui, mama," Victoire replied, gently pulling away from her arms. She wasn't sure whether to take this as validation or an insulting forewarning. Victoire pondered on it as she shuffled slowly towards her cousins.  
"Ohhhh, where's Teddy? He promised he'd help me with this blasted record player," complained Mrs. Weasley, pointing to a pitiful-looking record-playing device, unceremoniously ostracised to a dusty corner underneath the stairs. "Victoire, dear, could you please go find Teddy for me?" she asked.  
Pulled abruptly from her thoughts, Victoire nodded, and began to scan the room. In the midst of blonde, brunette and red heads, there was no Teddy to be found. _Must be outside, then_. "I'll go look for him outside," she announced, though Mrs. Weasley had since become distracted with a rather weepy Lily, who had scraped her knees running up the stairs.  
The night was warm, with only a gentle, late August breeze. Victoire dreaded the winter to come; like her mother, she had always been much more fond of warm weather, delighting in their yearly holidays in France.  
She spotted something. _Blue hair. Teddy_! What was he doing, mounted on his broom?  
"Teddy?" Victoire called, looking up, and the older boy turned his broom around to face her. "Grandma's looking for you. Says you promised to help her with the record player."  
"Ah," remembered Teddy, with a dramatic turn of his head. Was he drunk? How was he drunk? "I did promise...That can wait, though, night's still young. I'd like to go for a ride right now." Victoire frowned at him.  
"Did you... spike your own drink?" she asked him.  
"Yes," he replied. "Indeed I did."  
"And now you're mounted on a broom. At night time," she said, still frowning.  
" 'Twould seem that I am," he agreed. "Would you like to join me?" he asked, lowering himself onto the ground.  
Victoire staggered, unsure of what to say. "It's dangerous to fly at night. Low visibility. Mum would kill me."  
Teddy gave her a mischievious grin. "Well I won't tell if you don't." Victoire smiled tentatively, at that. "Plus, we're not really going to go far. Just...twirl around a bit."  
Victoire laughed. _Oh, what the hell!_ "Alright, I'll join you for some moonlight twirling," she said, at which Teddy seemed genuinely pleased. She hopped onto the broom and put her arms around his waist with what she hoped was casual grace.  
Victoire was amazed at how an intoxicated Teddy could fly around which such control and finesse, delivering the promised twirling motions amid the occasionally-croaking frogflies. He seemed to take pleasure in making her giggle by taking slight dips downwards, only to swerve his broom back up right after. The night was getting chillier, but the colder air felt pleasant against Victoire's skin. After a while, he tired out, taking them both to the Burrow's highest roof, and dismounting with a satisfied sigh.  
"That was nice," he said, leaning back against the tiles.  
"It was," replied Victoire, propping her chin on her hands, elbows supported by her crossed legs. She couldn't believe she'd just done what even her little sister and cousins were sensible enough not to do. "You're an excellent flyer."  
"Thank you. You should come watch the Quidditch matches more often."  
She smiled. "D'you ever consider being a professional Quidditch player?"  
"Nah. Not a life I'd want to live. Too much competition. Too much emphasis on the physical. All a bit degrading, if you ask me."  
Victoire pondered on this. She'd never thought of it like that. She didn't think anyone did see it that way, besides Teddy. "Then what life do you want to live?"  
"Dunno. Haven't really thought about it. Or, I have, but I'm not too pleased with any of the options."  
"Don't you know what you're going to do after Hogwarts?" Victoire blurted, aghast.  
"Blimey, girl, have you been talking to my grandmother?"  
She recovered from her shock, and gave a short chuckle. "No. Just seems odd to me that someone could be on their final year at Hogwarts and not know what they're going to do next. I've known since my second year."  
"Yeah? What are you going to be, then?" asked Teddy, turning sideways and propping his head on his hand.  
"I'm going to work in the Ministry. In the Department of Mysteries. I'm good at Charms, and I'm good at Defense Against the Dark Arts. And I'm only fourteen; I still have time to improve. I think I stand a chance."  
Teddy smiled. "I'd say you do as well."  
Victoire turned away from his gaze, in an attempt not to blush. "Wouldn't you like to be an Auror?"  
Teddy's smile faded. "No," he said, lying down on his back again.  
"Why not?"  
"Because I wouldn't want to kill anyone."  
"Oh."  
There was silence after this. Victoire had the growing sensation that she was bombarding him with questions, but she didn't know what else to do. "What does it feel like? To be a metamorphmagus?"  
Teddy let out a short, high-pitched laugh. "Excillerating. And absolutely terrifying at the same time."  
"How so?" asked Victoire.  
"Well, I can change into whatever shape I want, and that's great. I could just... slowly morph my features into more handsome shapes through the years and everyone would think I just got hotter. But, on the other hand... there's no... Teddy. Teddy is this, Teddy is that, Teddy can be absolutely bloody everything. But if Teddy can be absolutely bloody everything, then there's nothing that separates him from the rest of the world. Where's the line? Between me and what lies outside of me? There is none, there is no me. There's a personality, sure, but our physical selfs are... you know, embodied manifestations of our personalities. Or end up being, through the years. Laugh lines, from a good sense of humor, scars, from a foolhardiness, dark circles, from insomnia or irresponsability. I can change all of that in the blink of an eye. Maybe one day I'll forget what I even looked like at all."  
Victoire thought this strange, too, though she had begun to expect strange things from Teddy. "You could try constantly looking at yourself in the mirror. Then you wouldn't forget."  
"No, I hate looking at myself in the mirror." Victoire bulged her eyes at this. _Is he blind? Does he not see his perfectly square jaw, berry-red lips and perfect cheekbones?_  
Teddy continued. "But yes, I do suppose it is rather nice to be a walking amorphous blob." He smiled, lightening his previous tone. "Endless possibilities. A bit chaotic, really. And just _too_ easy, to be honest with you. Anything I don't like about myself I could just...change. No need for any character-developing insecurities."  
Victoire chuckled, thinking out loud before she could stop herself. "Don't see how you could have them, anyway."  
Teddy sat up and caught her gaze. "Have you got a _crush_ on me, Victoire?" he asked, smiling.  
"No," she replied, in a panic.  
Teddy laughed. "Ha, well, your lovely blushing cheeks say otherwise." The compliment only managed to deepen the redness of her cheeks. "You're lucky I'm a bit drunk, or I'd tell your mother."  
"Oh, shut up."  
Teddy laughed. "So would _you_ like to be a metamorphmagus?" An almost mute _Yeah_ was her reply. "What would you change about yourself, hmm?" he asked.  
The answer came to her too quickly. "Make myself skinnier," she said.  
"Oh, come on. I was only joking, earlier. Come on, have you looked at yourself? With that blonde mane," he described, making Victoire's stomach twist into a not. "Those big Veela eyes. And that figure. Not bad for a fourteen year old, not bad at all. I tell you, I'm rather flattered to be crushed on by such a sweet young thing," he said, jokingly.  
"I _don't_ have a crush on you," she insisted. How cruel of her to mock her so.  
"No? Then why are you blushing? Hmm?" he asked, alternately grabbing hold of both her arms inbetween gentle pokes to her stomach. "Why is sweet, prim Victoire blushing?"  
"Stop it, stop it!" she said, in what could only be described as panicked giggles.  
"Alright, I will stop it," he said, his voice barely audible because of Victoire's laughter. "But under one condition only: you've got to give me a kiss."  
Victoire stared at him, wide-eyed. She couldn't tell whether he was joking or not.  
"Just one," he repeated, dark-eyed. It would seem he was serious.  
"Just one? And you'll leave the matter alone? And you won't tell anyone?" asked Victoire, hesitatingly.  
Teddy made a mock face of utmost sincerity. "I swear it on Merlin's beard." His hold on her wrists had loosened.  
She timidly moved forwards for a small peck - but before she could complete the motion, Teddy caught hold of her surprised face and brought his lips swiftly to hers. His kiss was gentle - and strangely elegant, considering his state of inebriation. It was like he was leading her to exactly where he wanted to go, in a steady, carefree rythmn, his tongue probing her mouth ever so gently. She couldn't hear the frogflies anymore; the kiss was all that there was, at that moment. And Merlin, did it feel _wonderful_. As the seconds passed, she felt him getting closer and closer to her, until there was nothing standing in between their bodies and his hand was around her waist, holding it firmly. Probably catching hold of himself, he slowed his pace, bringing their kiss to an end with a gentle bite to her lower lip. They faced each other with their eyes closed, for a few seconds.  
"Tribute accepted," he said, snapping Victoire out of her daze. "Come on. We should be getting back," Teddy concluded, grabbing hold of his broom. "That record player isn't going to fix itself."  
It took her a few seconds to move - but she did, jumping onto Teddy's broom in stunned silence. He flew them swiftly downwards and waited for her to dismount before jogging gracefully towards the Burrow's main entrance, leaving her in his wake.


	2. Chapter 2

**JAMES**

 

On September 1st, James woke up at 6 a.m. - a record, so far in his life. Even though they were only leaving for King's Cross at 10:15, the young boy just could not keep himself in bed any longer. He showered as quickly as humanly possible and then ran to the kitchen, setting what he assumed was a presentable breakfast table. Perhaps this would motivate everybody to eat faster than they usually did.

While his family ate and got ready with what he considered an unnervingly slow pace, James stared at his trunk, and then at his shelves, and then back at his trunk. Was there something missing?

"Are you excited?" a half-awake, still-in-his-pajamas Albus asked, having wandered into his room with a piece of toast in his mouth.

"Yeah, but let me focus," James said, staring so intensely at his trunk that one could almost expect it to develop sentience and answer its master's qualms.

"Focus on what?" Albus asked, oblivious.

"Al, have you _stolen_ my periwinkle blue trousers?" an enraged Lily asked, from outside of James' field of vision.

Albus looked at his little sister, exhasperated. "They're _girl's_ trousers," he told his sister, though not managing to successfully convince her. "And they're too small for me, I'm well bigger than you."

Lily wasn't having it. "Well _I_ can't find my trousers, and _I_ saw you in my room last night," she complained, in an obnoxious, childish tone.

"I was just looking for my..." Albus began to explain.

"Can you two _piss off_ for a second?" James demanded.

His father's voice was instantly heard from across the house. "Language!" he warned them.

James rolled his eyes. "And go get _bloody ready_!" he told his siblings, this time almost whispering. "I'm not about to miss the Hogwarts Express because of you two."

He could hear his sister mimicking what he had just said in a whiny voice as she walked away. James pursed his lips. He pitied the bloke who'd end up with her. Though only seven, she was a _nightmare_ \- he could hardly imagine what she'd be like in ten years.

"You ready?" his Mum asked, propping her head inside his room. "James, this room is a mess!" she exclaimed.

"Well I've got bigger things to worry about, right now, haven't I, mum?" he rebuked.

She wasn't pleased. "No, you don't, _James Sirius Potter_. You'll tidy this room right now or you'll miss your train," his Mum said, before being drawn by Lily's nagging, coming from the bathroom.

James threw his arms upwards in exhasperation. _Fine_. He tidied his things as fast and as competently as his excited wreck of a brain could manage at that moment. Having done this, and having contemplated his trunk for another ten minutes, he decided that whatever he was missing, if he was missing anything, could be owled to him on the first week of term, anyway. With this resolution, James picked up his things and headed to the front door, to wait for his other family members. Though his brain kept yelling at him to go yell at them to hurry up, he knew that that _probably_ wasn't a good idea.

After all, it only took them about _forty five bloody minutes_.

"Everyone ready?" his Dad asked, while his Mum did her best to tidy Albus' extremely rumpled clothes.

"Yes," James said, not a second after his father had finished speaking. "Let's go."

His Dad looked at him amused. He offered up his car keys. "You want to drive?"

He got no more in response than a frustrated arm wagging and a half-mumbled _Daaaaad_ , which were nonetheless sufficient to make him laugh.

"Off with you, off you go," he said, ruffling James' hair - as if his hair weren't naturally messy enough.

They got inside the old flying Corola that Grandpa Arthur had gifted them many, many years ago. Though dingy-looking, it flew perfectly and absolutely without notice - a handy feature, for a massive flying object.

As always, laughter and conversation exploded around James in the car - though, in his preoccupied, pubescent brain, the most noteworthy thing at that moment were his unbelievably sweaty hands. He felt pretty sure he had developed some sort of glandular problem in the past few months. He had asked his Dad countless times to take him to St. Mungo's, but to no avail - his Father insisted that the demonical sweating was "normal" and "part of growing up".

He wondered if Fred and Roxanne were at King's Cross already. And Dominique. They probably were, James concluded, rolling his dark brown eyes. He felt extremely relieved to have Roxanne accompany him as a first year at Hogwarts, as he assumed that Fred and Dominique, though great mates so far, would most certainly abandon him as soon as they stepped foot in the castle. _Not a problem, though_. He had Roxanne, who laughed at all his jokes and was really cool and sometimes flew better than him. _But only sometimes_. She wasn't at all like other girls, who usually annoyed James to no end. Dominique wasn't, either. He liked Dominique quite a lot as well. Liked her a good deal better than he did her sister Victoire, anyway.

He remembered his Dad's words, the previous night. _The Sorting Hat pretty much does what you tell it to. It listens to your choice_. James deeply hoped it would, because he wasn't having it any other way than a quick, glorious slide into Gryffindor House. _Hope Roxanne gets put in Gryffindor, too_. _It would be a massive downer if she didn't_ , James thought, being hit with a twinge of fear. He didn't want to have happen to him what had happened to his cousins last year.

"We're here," his Dad said, taking the key off the ignition.

"Blimey," James blurted, suddenly ripped from his thoughts and concerns. He struggled out of the car looking thoroughly, thoroughly uncool. He tried to get his trunk off the boot of the car, but, after successive failures, was replaced by his Father. _If only my hands weren't BLOODY SWEATING_ , James thought, fuming.

"James!" a voice called.

"WHAT?" he immediately replied, before noticing that the voice belonged to his cousin Roxanne, who was now furrowing her brows.

"Blimey, mate, calm down," she said. She was alone.

"Why are you alone?" He asked.

"Fred has already gone in. Mum and Dad were in a hurry, they had to go to. But I wanted to wait for you."

James' wave of affection for his cousin was superceded by a sudden realisation. "Already gone in? What bloody time is it?" he asked, in a panic.

"Language!" he heard his Dad repeat, as they all walked towards Platform 9 3/4.

Roxanne gave him a smile of reassurance. "It's ten to eleven. We're alright."

And they were, thank Merlin. They got to the platform at 10:54, and, after very hurried goodbyes and some embarrassing sniffles from his Mum, James crossed the menacing brick wall alongside his cousin.

What lay on the other side was cooler than James could have ever imagined. He did not have too much time to marvel at the Express, though, as he was far more focused on getting _in it_ before it took off.

"We've done it," James said, shutting the door behind him. He was sweating everywhere now, and _way too much_. But hey, things could be worse: at least he hadn't missed his train.

"Let's go find a compartment, then," Roxanne said, with a freckly, smiling face. _She doesn't look like she's sweating at all_ , James thought, bitterly. _I really need to go to St. Mungo's_.

As they had arrived quite late, almost all of the compartments were either full, or thinly populated by people they didn't know, and who were therefore automatically intimidating. James felt like a right fool to feel this way, but he couldn't help it.

They finally spotted an empty compartment - only to find themselves standing face to face with a pair of unfriendly-looking, already-robed first year boys. They looked like brothers, though one was unusually short and the other unusually tall. They had neatly trimmed curly hair, and cold, scouring features of mixed african and caucasian descent. Their robes were spotless, and both of them wore a clunky, silver ring on their left index fingers. James would bet a galleon they would both get sorted into Slytherin.

"I think you'll find this spot is taken," the short one said. He was almost as short as his sister Lily, which was making it very difficult for James not to laugh.

"I think you'll find that..." James began, but was interrupted by his cousin Roxanne.

"Well what are we supposed to do? Stand outside for the whole ride?" she asked them, sensibly.

"Not really our business," the tall one replied, reaching for the compartment door knob.

"Oh no, you don't," James muttered, preparing to smack the arrogant boy's arm.

"James? Roxanne?" called an older voice, from behind them. Teddy. "What are you two still doing here, standing?" he asked. He was already robed as well, and _wearing a Headboy badge_! The part of James that wasn't preoccupied with the imp and scarecrow standing in front of him swole with pride.

"Well, we were going to take this compartment," Roxanne said. "But these two refuse to share it with us."

"Do they, now?" asked Teddy, turning his gaze onto the almost-surely-Slytherin boys. "And why would two nice-looking chaps such as yourselves do something like that?"

The tall one stared at Teddy, unamused. "We've a right to associate only with those we choose to," he finally said, jaw tense.

"That you do, that you do," Teddy acquiesced. "And you know what? I've just seen back there a nice empty compartment, all the way on the other side of the train. I suggest you head there. Unless, that is, you fancy the idea of getting in trouble on the first day of term."

The Slytherin boys looked at each other, unsure of what to do. Finally, throwing them all one last look of utter contempt, they began walking away.

"Make sure to hold your little brother's hand, or he might get lost," James quipped, despite himself.

The short one turned his face back. "We're false twins, you ghastly-smelling freak!" he retorted, and the two picked up their pace.

James felt his cheeks burn.

" 's what you get for mocking people, James," Roxanne said.

"Do I stink?" he asked Teddy.

Teddy grimaced, uncomfortably. "You kind of do, mate."

James smacked his hand against the door knob.

"Well has anyone got any deodorant?" the young boy asked, exhasperated.

"Don't you?" Roxanne asked, brows furrowed.

Something dawned on him. " _So that's what I bloody forgot_!"

 

**VICTOIRE**

 

Victoire sighed, trying to focus on the squiggly characters in her thick Arithmancy book. The sound of chatter from other compartments and of the noisy Hogwarts Express itself was making it hard not to lose her train of thought. Merlin, it was pointless. She couldn't focus for the life of her.

She gave up, setting the book aside. Crossing her arms, she leaned back on her seat and directed her gaze to the ever-changing Scottish landscape. She couldn't help but do what she had been doing all week: reel over the events of the previous Potter-Weasley dinner.

It still felt surreal to her that she had had her first kiss. And with _Teddy_ , no less. She wondered what his intentions had been. Had he already known what he was going to do when he asked her to join him on his broom? Was he like this everytime he got drunk? Did he just...snog random girls? Victoire would've suspected Teddy of having snogged a member of the Potter-Weasley family before if it wasn't for the fact that she was the oldest member of the younger generation.

She couldn't wrap her head around his view of Quidditch. And of being a metamorphmagus. She would _kill_ to have that power. And _he_ didn't even need it! With his perfect, wavy blue hair, and his almond-shaped, childish eyes, and his perfect mouth. Merlin's _beard_ , was she smitten. Teddy had been right, Victoire had had a crush on him - for the longest time, really. But _boy_ , had it worsened with the kiss. She couldn't stop replaying in her mind the moment their kiss had ended, when he had bitten her lip. Like a cassette tape. She felt like she would've melted into his hands had the kiss lasted a second longer.

It was all a very bad idea. _Very bad_ , indeed. Teddy was older, and he was like family, and he was bloody strange. And still, she was irrevocably enamoured.

Which was why she had barely slept in the week that followed said kiss. And the fact that Teddy and her hadn't spoken since didn't help, either. Her mother had insisited on going home earlier than everyone else, claiming a headache, and when it was time for them to say their goodbyes, Teddy had been inconveniently passed out on the living room sofa. And then a week had passed. No owls. No visits. Nothing. But, then again, Victoire hadn't owled him either, or visited. She didn't really know if she was supposed to. She wasn't sure what people did in this sort of situation; Merlin, she had never _been_ in this situation before! She didn't know if Teddy's silence meant he was playing it cool, or that the kiss meant nothing to him and he had never really been interested in her in the first place, or that he had been interested in her but the kiss had ruined everything because Victoire was a bad kisser. Merlin, she hoped she wasn't a bad kisser. What would Teddy be thinking of her right now! A stupid little girl. Who wants to work for the Ministry. And can't snog for the life of her. Victoire felt as if she were about to scream.

She never got to scream, however, as the compartment door was suddenly opened by her friend, Amarantha Ainsworth. "Hello!" she said, smiling under the threshhold. The loud chatter from the rest of the train came pouring in. Students of all ages were walking rightwards and leftwards, screaming across carriages. An older Ravenclaw, Claudius Barlow, flew by, not even noticing her - and accompanied by... _Teddy_? Her heart jumped. "Searched the whole train for you!" Amarantha continued. Was that Teddy? Had that been _Teddy_? "Was almost starting to suspected you'd taken a year off!" Amarantha finally closed the compartment door and sat across from Victoire, who snapped herself out of her frantic search.

"What, me? Take a year off? In what universe?" she asked her friend.

Amarantha laughed. "Yeah, I know, I'm only joking. How was your summer?"

 _I kissed a boy who's three years older than me and who is now giving me the cold shoulder_. "It was good. Provence was lovely, as always. We brought home fifteen jars of honey!" Victoire hoped she wasn't blushing. "What about yours? How was Russia?"

"Ah, terribly cold. And everybody was mean and strange. But we did get to see this really interesting..." Though Victoire kept her gaze steady on her friend, her mind started to wander almost immediately. _Teddy bloody Lupin is bloody ignoring me_.

 

**JAMES**

 

After drying his armpits with a t-shirt and viciously rubbing them with Roxanne's deodorant, James put on his robes and slumped back against his seat, defeated.

"I'm going to be known as that one git who stinks," he moaned.

Roxanne rolled her eyes. She had taken her shoes off and was sitting cross-legged across from him. "Oh, come on, no you're not!" she exclaimed. "You smell just fine, now!" his cousin noted.

"Yeah but these things stick with you," James rebuked. "Forever," he added, feeling miserable.

"Well _there_ you bloody are!" his cousin Dominique said, slamming the compartment door wide open. "Thought you two had missed the train!" she exclaimed, as she strolled inside, followed, as always, by Fred.

"Don't joke about it," James muttered.

Dominique sat next to Roxanne, stretching. Furrowing her brows at James, she asked:

"Why you already wearing your robes?"

Roxanne chuckled. "Because he stunk."

"He what?" her bother Fred asked, a smile creeping on his lips.

"Shut up!" James protested. "It's not funny!"

Roxanne continued nonetheless. "James forgot to put on his deodorant this morning, so by the time we got to the train, he was positively _stinking_ ," she laughed.

"Well I bet it's happened to you lot as well!" he exclaimed, though it did nothing to stop his cousin's laughter.

"Worst is," Roxanne continued, "we ran into these two nasty boys on our way here. One is really short and the other one is really tall. Anyway, when James mocked the short one for looking much younger, the boy called him a _ghastly-smelling freak_."

Fred and Dominique's smile died as quickly as it had appeared.

"He what?" Dominique asked.

"Yeah, yeah, let's all console poor old James..." James moaned.

"Did you say one was really tall and the other really short?" Fred asked his sister, who nodded affirmatively. "Were they mixed race? Like us?"

"Yeah," she replied. "D'you know them?"

"Not personally, thank Merlin. But I've seen their picture in the Prophet. At their parent's trial."

"Trial?!" James asked, a part of himself growing giddy with excitement.

"Their parents are Pansy and Blaise Zabini," Fred revealed. "Death Eaters."

Dominique gasped. "No!"

"Yes!" Fred said. "I remember reading the article about it a few years ago, out of sheer boredom. Those two looked right miserable in the picture."

"Well, no wonder," Roxanne exclaimed.

"Are their parents in Azkaban?" James asked.

"Nah. As soon as they realised they were in danger of being locked up, they sold out _their own_ parents. Said they forced them to become Death Eaters. And that they acted the way they did towards Muggleborns out of fear. They said they were afraid of what their teachers would have done to them if they hadn't."

"That year when Hogwarts was run by Death Eaters?" Dominique asked.

"Yeah," Fred replied.

"And they got away _just like that_?" Roxanne was aghast.

"Well, there was some money involved, I'm sure," Fred said. "They're loaded, so that would've been no problem for them."

"Merlin's _beard_ ," James exclaimed, leaning back on his seat.

"I guess if you're going to get mocked, might as well get mocked by Death Eater offspring," Dominique concluded. "Worthy adversaries," she added.

 

**MOLLY**

 

Molly's eyelids dropped, heavy with sleep. She fluttered them open immediately. Train rides always made her feel drowsy (as did car rides, or any sort of ride, for that matter), but this time she insisted on staying awake, as she was having way too much fun imagining the school year ahead of her.

The chatter of the people sitting in the same compartment as her was a mere background buzz to Molly, who kept trying to predict how her first tutoring session with her cousin Victoire would go.

She was absolutely confident in her abilities, but a small part of her was afraid she'd somehow fail to meet Victoire's standards. According to Father, her cousin was, after all, an exemplary student.

How fast would they progress? Would it be fast enough to impress Professor Munkwell on the first weeks of term? Molly hoped so. She wanted nothing more than to earn the approval of her Potions Master. She already sort of had; well, at least more so than any other student in her class, but she felt like she still wasn't quite up to her teacher's standards. Soon she would, though, with Victoire's help.

She felt quite thankful to her cousin for agreeing to assist her. She hadn't been sure if she'd receive a positive answer, given that she was not on the best of terms with her younger relatives. Or with... anyone, for that matter, other than a select few. Molly didn't really see the point of socializing with most people around her. She felt her time was precious, and should only be devoted to those she felt were kindred spirits. And Victoire did seem that sort of person, but Molly had always found it difficult to approach her, since the older girl was always surrounded either by her rambunctious sister or by her snooty friends. Perhaps this tutorship would serve more than one purpose.

Even if it didn't, though, that wouldn't be a problem: Father had always told her to _stick to the straight and narrow part, and disregard all else_. And Mother had always agreed. She already had the approval of her parents, but she supposed a little extra praise for some extraordinary Potions prowess wouldn't hurt, either.

Molly sighed contentedly, as she predicted the academic success to come. With tutoring sessions, her natural ability and her relentless discipline, she'd be light years away from her classmates - every single year. Her O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. study for Potions would probably only consist of light revision work. The Prefect and Headgirl badge practically had her name on them already.

She did have one slight concern, though. As a child, Molly had always dreamt of becoming Minister for Magic. A position her Father would soon reach, no doubt, so her own election shouldn't prove too difficult. However, since entering Hogwarts and being introduced to Professor Munkwell's absolutely enrapturing understanding of potion-making, the seeds of doubt had been sown in her mind. Molly absolutely loved Potions, the minutia of it, the elegance. She'd love nothing more than to study it for the rest of her life, and make potions for a living. Surely discover several new potions as well, or new uses for existing potions. But the pull of a political career was still very much within the precocious twelve year old girl. Molly Weasley, Minister for Magic - it did have quite a ring to it. Would her parents approve of a career in potioneering, even? Molly was not sure.

"Aaaaaaanything from the trolley?" she heard the trolley witch intonate, the exact same way she had last year.

One of the students inside the compartment got up from their seat. A girl, tall, with waist-length brown hair. Johanna Girdstone, daughter of Mathilda Girdstone, longstanding Ministry Authority.

"Two fizzing whizzbees, please," she asked, handing the woman three sickles. Having gotten her sweets, she sat back down, joining in on her friend's lively conversation once more.

Molly did feel hungry, now that she thought about it. Reaching into the vintage, burgundy briefcase her mother had gifted her when she had turned eleven, Molly pulled out her lunchbox and opened it on her lap, slowly digging into the tuna sandwiches and mandarins their maid, Mrs. Burbridge, had prepared for her.

The other students threw her some strange, side-eyed looks, of course, but Molly payed them no mind. She was not about to stuff herself full of childish, harmful sweets when she could instead eat something that more resembled a proper meal.

By the time she had finished her very, very late lunch, the sun had already set, and Molly had only time to change into her Ravenclaw robes and to read two chapters of her _Asiatic Anti-Venoms,_ _by Libatius Borage_ before the Hogwarts Express arrived at Hogsmeade station.

Instead of following old Hagrid to the boats that would sail her across the Black Lake, Molly followed the rest of the second year students to the self-driving carriages. She was thankful for the change, as it had been a bit difficult, last year, to emerge out of that small nautical excursion with completely dry robes.

She spotted her cousins, Dominique and Fred, two carriages ahead of her. They were deeply engrossed in conversation, as always. Molly smirked. She supposed it really must have been a tragedy for them to end up in different houses. Though Molly was absolutely aloof as to the reasoning behind Dominique's sorting. The girl had, in Molly's opinion, none of the qualities Rowena Ravenclaw prized in her students. Sure, she was an acceptable student, but there were acceptable students in all houses. And, most of the time, Dominique seemed more interested in running around with her cousin Fred like a raving madman than in any intellectual pursuits. She supposed these sorts of things did sometimes happen, with hatstalls.

She was fairly certain her younger cousins James and Roxanne would be sorted into Gryffindor, however. They were just the type. She didn't quite understand how Father had been sorted into such a house, but she supposed familial loyalty must have played quite an important part in young Percy Weasley's mind. Mother, of course, had been in Ravenclaw house. What House would her little sister Lucy be sorted into? She wondered. The girl hadn't shown much promise, so far; perhaps Gryffindor, then. Or, worst come to worst, Hufflepuff. Molly shuddered - though it might have been from the cold. Hogwarts grounds were always colder than her native London, this time of year.

The carriages came to halt. Stepping down, Molly followed the mass of students headed towards the castle. Despite finding it abhorrent to identify oneself with a crowd, the conglomerate of students that surrounded her did make Molly feel happy to be back.

She felt even happier once she stepped inside the castle, as it provided far more warmth than the chilly Scottish breeze outside. Climbing up the usual stairs, Molly entered the Great Hall with her fellow students, gazing up at the enchanted ceiling with a faint smile on her lips. Professor Munkwell was at his usual spot, fingers delicately intertwined rested on the table. His young face was as sphinxlike as ever.

All other students having been seated, the first years made their entrance. From what Molly could gather, from her seat, both James and Roxanne looked a mixture of ecstatic and nauseous. Roxanne even came close to tripping over one of the chairs, which had been turned slightly sideways by the boy sitting on it.

Molly remembered that she too had been sick to her stomach, when she had been sorted. She'd grown up hearing Mother's tales about her time at Ravenclaw, and had seen the approving glint in Father's eyes, so she had wanted nothing more than to be sorted into that great house. And thank Merlin, she had! That had been one of the happiest days of Molly's life, if not the happiest so far.

Confirming that no first year had been left behind, Headmistress McGonagall opened the usual roll of parchment.

"Marcel Zabini," she called out, and a very tall and extremely thin black boy walked up to the sorting stool, sitting on it with awkward grace. Son of Blaise Zabini?

"Slytherin!" the Sorting Hat immediately pronounced. _No surprise there_. The boy smirked, and shot a glance at someone in the crowd of anxious first years.

"Roxanne Weasley," McGonagall continued. Roxanne ran to the stool.

"It would seem the great House of Weasley has blessed us once more," the Sorting Hat quipped, sardonically. "This ought to be no surprise. Gryffindor!"

Her cousin's suffering frown gave way to a smiling sigh of relief, and the girl ran gleefully to the Gryffindor table. _I guess standards can be quite relative_ , Molly thought.

Two were then sorted into Hufflepuff, and one to Gryffindor.

"James Potter," the Headmistress said, and Molly saw her professors visibly shift in their seats - even Professor Munkwell.

"Another Potter! At long last," the Sorting Hat exclaimed. "Well... you're much less difficult than your father. Gryffindor!"

Gryffindor table cheered loudly at this, and even Headmistress Mcgonagall smiled unabashedly. Molly pursed her lips.

"Alard Zabini," she continued. A comically short black boy walked up to the stool. _Brothers, then_. Almost surely the sons of Blaise Zabini. Father had told her all about him, and his wife Parkinson. Rotten criminals, the lot of them. It was a scandal they weren't locked up in Azkaban. But that would surely be fixed once Father was elected minister.

"A two-in-one set," the Sorting Hat laughed, and Molly couldn't help but giggle a little, too. "Slytherin!" it exclaimed. _Of course_.

In the end, Hogwarts had been given 5 new Hufflepuffs, 6 new Gryffindors, 7 new Slytherins and 8 new Ravenclaws. Molly had recognised most of their surnames; she supposed the rest were Muggleborn.

Headmistress McGonagall approached the podium calmly, and rang a small golden spoon against a glass chalice. Having obtained silence, she began:

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts."

 

**VICTOIRE**

 

McGonagall's speech was mere background noise for Victoire, who had been staring straight at her plate for fifteen minutes, doing her utmost best not to look up and search for Teddy's face in the crowd.

"Victoire? Are you alright?" asked Amarantha, with a concerned frown.

Victoire felt annoyed for having to break concentration. "Yeah, just tired. I was up all night yesterday reading our Arithmancy textbook. I'm really excited for the start of the school term."

Nothing of what she'd just said had been a lie; she had, however, conveniently forgot to mention that the only reason she'd been reading into the wee hours of the night in the first place had been because she was having difficulty getting to sleep at all - because of Teddy.

" _I've_ been more focused on my _Transfiguration textbook_ , myself," replied Amarantha. "I feel Transfiguration is a much more essential subject for my education than Arithmancy." Victoire rolled her eyes internally. "But, then again, we do want different things," her friend added.

Victoire nodded in agreement. They did want different things. Amarantha was looking to follow in her father's footsteps and work at Wizengamot - maybe even become the first female Minister for Magic, one day. Since the Transfiguration N.E.W.T. was much more valued by that branch of the Ministry than the Arithmancy N.E.W.T., it made sense that her friend would want to devote her attention to preparing for it.

 _Well, my eyes are off the table now, so I might as well look for that blibbering idiot_ , she thought. She scanned the Hufflepuff table - and found his blue head not a second after, as could be expected. He was looking at McGonagall, but whispering to a brunette girl sitting next to him. The girl furrowed her brows at whatever he was telling her but quickly burst out laughing, slapping her hand over her mouth. Teddy looked most pleased with himself. Victoire ground her teeth together. _It's what I get for looking_.

She slowly pierced another one of the peas on her plate with her fork and ate with what she supposed was a pathetic lack of enthusiasm. Counting that one, she had eaten six peas. Plus a bite of the pork pie, and two swigs of pumpkin juice. She had read somewhere that if one eats slowly enough, one feels full sooner. She hoped it was true, since she had run out of SlimTrick potions yesterday, and hadn't had the opportunity to restock.

The round of applause indicated that McGonagall's speech had finally ended.

Victoire felt a not in her stomach. As much as it made her roll her eyes at herself, she was pretty sure she was still going to try to have a quick chat with Teddy when dinner was over. After all, there was still the possibility that she was being completely unfair. She had grounded all her conclusions on mere suppositions, on her perspective alone. Perhaps Teddy had been genuinely interested in her, and hadn't thought she was a bad kisser, and had wanted to reach out to her, but hadn't known how. Oh, and he had gone to Spain, too! Just before Summer ended. How could Victoire have forgotten about that? Clearly a sign that she was being entirely self-centered and extremely unfair. Teddy was probably just as clueless as she was and just needed a little push. Victoire judged him silently for that; after all, he _was_ the older one. Shouldn't he be mature and confident?

 _I hate looking at myself in the mirror_ , she remembered him saying, that night at the Burrow. Oh, poor Teddy. He probably wasn't confident at all. Well, neither was Victoire, really, but she supposed she could make a little effort. She could hardly wait for dinner to end.

"Aren't you going to eat that?" asked Lyssa McLaggen, a fellow 4th year, pointing to the near-intact pork pie on Victoire's plate.

"No, I'm not very hungry. Ate a bunch of sweets on the train," she lied, low enough so that Amarantha couldn't hear her. "Here, you can have it," she offered, moving the pork pie to Lyssa's plate.

"Thanks!" said the girl, looking satisfied. Lyssa ate enough to feed a family of four and was still stick thin, year after year. As much as she didn't want to, Victoire resented her slightly for that. She had to nearly starve herself in order to look even barely decent.

 _Well, at least now no one will bother me about my plate, anymore_ , she thought. Minutes rolled by as Victoire stared glossy-eyed at her surroundings, occasionally contributing to conversations around her with a quick smile and nod of the head.

And at last, dinner had come to an end. Students were leaving their tables and pouring out of the Great Hall, headed to their respective dormitories. Headboys and girls from all four houses were standing in strategic points, ushering out students like patient shepherds. Including Hufflepuff _Headboy_ Teddy J. Lupin, who was smiling charmingly at his numerous acquaintances as he directed them out of the Great Hall. How excellent! He had made Headboy.

This was Victoire's chance. Drifting sneakily away from the main Ravenclaw crowd, she swiftly pushed through the Hufflepuff students and approached Teddy with hesitating steps. He hadn't noticed her yet. _Alright, now speak_.

"Hiya, Teddy," she said, smiling timidly. He finally looked at her, and his eyes widened with recognition.

"Alright, Victoire?" he replied.

"How was Spain?" she asked.

" 'was great! Real experience!" he told her, eyes darting from her to the background of Hufflepuffs. "Look, I'll talk to you later, alright? I'm a bit busy at the moment," said Teddy, with a slightly apologetic look on his face.

"Teddy!" yelled the Hufflepuff Headgirl, who Victoire now recognised as the brunette Teddy had been whispering to during McGonagall's speech. "Come on!" she urged him.

"I'm going, I'm going!" said Teddy. "I'll catch you later, yeah?"

"Yeah," Victoire replied, though probably not loud enough for Teddy to hear her, as he was already walking away. Automatically, she turned on her heels and headed to Ravenclaw tower. She was so mad at herself, she nearly got the riddle wrong upon entering.


	3. Chapter 3

**DOMINIQUE**

 

"I've got us a plan!" Fred exclaimed, slamming his right hand on the Ravenclaw table's wooden surface. It earned him a displeased look from all those having breakfast in that particular spot, most especially from Gregory Husman, whose dignified, Germanic face had just been splattered with pumpkin juice. Dominique, however, couldn't help but smile complacently, as she was well aware that this level of enthusiasm, coming from Fred, could only have Quidditch as its subject matter. Nonetheless, she decided to play the fool.

"You've got us a plan?" she asked, mid-chew.

"Yes!" he replied, and set a badly crumpled sheet of paper on the table in front of her. In it was a rough, nigh-incomprehensible sketch of a very complex-looking Quidditch move. "A Dionysus Dive."

Dominique wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. "A Dionysus Dive?" she asked. Her friend nodded. "Are you insane?" The move Fred was proposing consisted in standing on one's broom and leaping from it, punching the Quaffle towards a goalpost. It was foolhardy, to say the least.

Fred looked confused. "What? What's wrong with it?"

"What's wrong with it," Dominique said, as she finished her piece of toast and slung her bag on her shoulder, "is that we'll both bloody die if we try to pull that stunt."

"Come on, we _won't_!" he assured her, as they both exited the Great Hall, separated by the Ravenclaw table.

"Fred, we _will_ ," she insisted. The boy was barking mad, it seemed. "Have you ever even stood up on a broom before?" she asked him, scowling impatiently.

"Well... No, but, we still have another week left before try-outs. I'm sure we can practise," Fred said. "Besides, in the heat of the moment, I imagine the right instincts just... kick in," he wagered.

Dominique remained unconvinced. "The only kicking you'll be experiencing will be coming from my foot if you decide to be so stupid as to do a " _Dionysus Dive_ "," she mocked.

Her cousin slumped his shoulders in defeat. "Well what the bloody hell do you propose, then?" he demanded.

"What I've been saying all along!" she told him, as they headed towards the greenhouses outside. "We'll go there and just...do our best! I'm sure it will be enough." Her sister had even said so, and she was right about pretty much everything. "Come on, anyone who's remotely good at Quidditch gets in, everyone knows that."

"Yeah, but...", Fred continued, "...I wanted to impress them," he admitted.

Dominique cackled. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of opportunities to do that once you make it onto the team. And, you know, play an _actual game_."

Fred smiled. "And, you know, _actually beat you_ ," he retorted.

Dominique laughed. "You wish."

Students were already gathering outside Greenhouse nº3, where their Herbology lesson would be taking place.

"You know who I'm really jealous of?" Fred asked, as he leaned against the mossy glass wall.

"Who?" Dominique asked.

"James. He's got his mum. Imagine being the son of a famous Quidditch player! Lucky bastard."

"But, then again, he is a first year," Dominique pointed out. "So he can't even try out."

"Yeah, for now," Fred recognised.

Dominique hesitated before speaking. "How's your dad?" she finally asked.

His features hardened and rearranged themselves, as if to become unreadable. "The usual. Had another episode last week. Mum told me all about it in a letter. I don't know why she insists on telling me. I know she doesn't tell Roxanne..." Fred's strained, unnatural voice was interrupted by the sound of students rushing inside the Greenhouse. Professor Longbottom had arrived. "Anyway, I'll tell you about it later," Fred said.

Dominique knew he wouldn't, not unless she insisted, but she nodded nonetheless as they both walked inside.

"Morning, class," Professor Longbottom said, in his quiet, friendly voice.

"Morning, Professor Longbottom," the class replied.

Dominique felt determined not to let the matter die out. It pained her to have to probe her friend for information, but she was certain that it wasn't good for Fred to bottle it all up. She really did not want his father's illness to bleed out onto him.

"I've got something quite special for you, today," their Herbology Professor began, reaching into a dingy, old leather bag. Dominique sighed. Herbology _really_ wasn't her favourite subject.

**JAMES**

"Look, Peeves, there's no reason for all this animosity," James said, trying to reason with the _demonic_ poltergeist, "I really think we could have ourselves a deal," he proposed.

"No deal for his Highness James II!" Peeves exclaimed, using the nickname he had immediately given him on the first day of term, to James' utter dismay. "Soon all the land shall know that Jamie is a nasty little boy who steals from Filch's office!" he proclaimed, loudly.

James shushed him as silently as he could. "I didn't steal anything!" he whispered. A complete lie.

"Was Jamie-jo on a tourist excursion, then?" Peeves asked, with sarcastic malice.

Thunderous steps were heard down the corridor. Oh, no. This was it. James was done for. About to be expelled during his first month at Hogwarts. What would his parents say?!

"I could hear yer jabber from all the way o'er there, Peeves," an exasperated Rubeus Hagrid said. _Would you say it's got you quite peeved?_ The poltergeist asked.

"Hagrid!" James exclaimed. Thank Merlin! He was saved. Surely Hagrid wouldn't tell on him. Not this once, at least.

"Jamie!" Hagrid replied, his very large face smiling down at him. "Not one month past an' yeh're already in trouble with Peeves?" he asked, laughing. "That's a record, that is!"

James smiled back at Hagrid, unsure of what to say.

" _I've_ just caught him in _Filch's_ office, _stealing_!" Peeves announced, almost if tasting his own delicious words.

"Stealin'?" Hagrid asked him, dismayed.

For the first time, James felt slightly guilty about the whole situation. "Well, you see, Uncle George told me," James began, and understanding dawned on Hagrid's face, "well, he told me there was still one bag of belch powder left in Filch's office. Zonko's has discontinued it, it's gone! This one's probably the only one left in the whole country!" he proclaimed, showing Hagrid the aforementioned bag in his hand.

"Well, an' why would yer wan' summat like tha'?" he asked. _Yes, why would you want something like that?_ Peeves insisted.

"To prank my mates," James replied, doning his finest angelical expression. He'd had quite a lot of time to practise it, growing up. "Have ourselves a few laughs."

"Well I don' see any harm in tha'," Hagrid recognised, trying to reason with Peeves.

"Liar! All Potties are liars!" Peeves cried out, furious. _Your father was a liar and a liar still are you, I'll tell old rheumy Argus and I'll smack you with my shoe_! He began to sing, flying away from them.

"Don' yeh worry 'bout it, Jamie," Hagrid assured him. "If this gets ter Filch's ears, yeh tell 'im ter talk ter me," he said.

A wave of gratitude washed over James. "Thank you, Hagrid," he said.

"Don' mention it. But no more stealin'!" He admonished him. James shook his head emphatically. "I best be goin' now. Got ter have a wor' with the Headmistress abou' those centaurs."

James bulged his eyes. "Centaurs?!"

Realising his mistake, Hagrid backtracked. "Nothin' tha' yeh should concern yehself with," he pronounced. "Bye, now," he finally said, before going on his way.

"Bye," James replied as he watched him go. For now, he'd just count himself lucky to have gotten away with this, but in the future Roxanne and him really would have to probe Hagrid about these _centaurs_.

**VICTOIRE**

 

Victoire felt excillerated as she poured over her Arithmancy homework. It was like the fog that had clouded her thoughts for the past few weeks had finally lifted, and her mind was clearer than ever. She could barely contain her excitement as she wrote down the magical properties of the number seven. Victoire cackled to herself as she realised the irony of their Arithmancy teacher being called Septima.

In the cosy warmth of the library at that time of day, all that could be heard was the rain pouring softly against the window panes. There was almost a rythmn to it, and Victoire found herself scribbling to the imagined beat. After an hour of blessed concentration, she finished it - and sighed contently at her neat handwriting, perfectly aligned with the margins of the parchment.

 _What next? Ah, Transfiguration_. She fished out a textbook from her bag and placed it gently on the wooden table, opening it to page 45. She loved the smell of her books - and of books in general; old, new, it didn't matter. It always made her think of her mother's library, in the cottage, where she had spent a good deal of -

Her train of thought was left suspended by a pleasant chill down her spine: someone had passed her by and traced a delicate finger across her exposed forearm, quick enough for Victoire only to catch sight of their back. _Teddy_!

The boy exited the library before Victoire could open her mouth to speak. But she had no need to, because he had left a note on the edge of her table.

 

Come outside. Got something to show you.

 

Despite her best efforts, she felt a huge grin spread across her features. _Okay, relax_. She tidied her things on top of each other and paced calmly out of the library.

She didn't see him, at first - he was leaning back against the wall in a darker patch of the corridor.

"Hey," she said, grabbing hold of her left wrist behind her back. She was trying not to smile too much. "What've you got?"

Unfortunately, he was as handsome as ever. "I brought you a souvenir from Spain."

Alright, now she had to smile. "Really?"

"It naturally got lost in my chaotic lugage. Forgot about it completely, for weeks. But yesterday I was rummaging through some things and I found it." He beckoned her closer. "Come here." She did, her heart thudding too loud for comfort. He took out a small, delicate headband from his pocket. It was dark blue, made of delicate, interwoven strings of fabric, with what seemed like a small azure beetle on the righthand side. He placed it gently on her volumous blonde curls.

"Thank you," she said, smiling.

He raised his left hand. "Wait, wait," he said. Tickling the beetle with his index finger, Teddy made it come to life, and Victoire realised that it was no common beetle but a blue firefly, which was now fluttering around her head, bathing them both in blueish light. It was absolutely enchanting. Victoire stared at the magical insect, mouth agape.

"They're called _luciérnagas_ in Spain. There's blue ones, and red ones, and green ones. I thought blue would suit you best," said Teddy, who was now leaning against the wall again.

"I...thank you, this is beautiful," she replied, feeling that her eyes were positively sparkling by now. "It was very sweet of you to think of me."

He shook his head. "Don't mention it. How's school? How's your plot to take the Department of Mysteries by storm?" he asked.

Victoire chuckled. "It's great. Really coming along. Actually, I've been really focused on my course work all afternoon - that is, till you came along."

"Oh, well, I absolutely refuse to carry that weight in my conscience, young lady - I'll leave you to your studies straight away," he declared, with mock solemnity, and started walking away before Victoire could speak a word. "I'll be seeing you around."

"Yeah!" she finally managed to say. "See you around."

Well now she really didn't know what to think. He hadn't written to her, hadn't talked to her on the train, had spent two seconds blowing her off on the first night of term - but had thought of her while in Spain and bought her a beautiful headband? The exact shade of her eyes, too. Victoire wondered if he had bought other people souvenirs. If he had, then this meant nothing - he was just a lovely friend. But, if he hadn't... then Teddy Lupin owed her some explanations. Though she wasn't exactly sure if she had the guts to demand them of him. Better to ascertain the souvenir question, first.

Victoire wailed as she realised that her Transfiguration homework awaited her in the library. Now all she felt like doing was lying down on her bed, staring out into the emptiness, and thinking about Teddy.

**JAMES**

 

James sighed in relief as he felt the warmth of the Gryffindor Common Room, having just stepped through the entrance.

"So?!" his cousin Roxanne asked, a little too loudly, setting the Quidditch magazine she had been reading down on her lap. She was sitting on one of the large, red armchairs, brown skin half-illuminated by the fireplace.

"Shhhhh!" James protested, approaching her as she mouthed silent apologies. Close enough, he began. "Well it turned out alright in the end," he said, tentatively shrugging his shoulders.

"In the end?!" his cousin asked, alarmed. "What d'you mean, in the end?!" she whispered.

"Well, Peeves sort of...caught me, but then Hagrid showed up, and I explained things, and he said he'd vouch for me," James explained.

"You told Hagrid we're planning on spiking the Zabini twins' pumpkin juice with the belch powder?" Roxanne asked, aghast.

"No, you ninny head, I told him it was to prank my own mates, obviously," he said. He felt a bit bad for lying to Hagrid, but, you know, otherwise, how would he get to spike the twins' drinks? James absolutely _had_ to get back at them after what they'd done the first week of term. He shuddered just thinking about it. That _imp_ Alard had elbowed Roxanne harshly in the corridor, and upon protesting (with colourful, unfriendly language), James had been hit with an leek jinx by Marcel. By the time Roxanne got him to the Hospital Wing, James looked like the bloody oddest tree the wizarding world had ever seen. It had taken Madam Pomfrey _six hours_ to shrink down all the stems. I mean, sure, the twins had gotten detention, but still - it was absolutely not enough. James had to do _something_. It had been only that morning that he'd remembered his Uncle's prophetic words. _If you ever need to get back at somebody, there's always Filch's drawer of confiscated items._ _Most of the time it's just rubbish, but every once in a while you find some real gems. I'm pretty sure the last pouch of belch powder from Zonko's is still there!_

"Oh, well thank _Merlin_ ," Roxanne exclaimed, relieved.

"Thank Merlin for what?" Fred asked, walking into the Common Room as the winter sun set on the Scottish hills outside.

Roxanne weighed her options before speaking. Finally, she decided to trust her brother. "James stole some belch powder from Filch's office because we're going to sneak it into the twins' drinks. At dinner. Tomorrow or something. To get back at them for what they did the other day," she explained, torrentially.

Fred did not seem amused. "You what?" he asked.

"We what what?" asked James, unsure if his cousin's harsh expression was serious or not.

"What d'you think that's going to achieve, exactly?" he asked, angrily.

"Hey, quiet down, Fred!" Roxanne urged. Her brother stared at her, furious. James furrowed his brows in disbelief.

"You're going to get _caught_ and you're going to _lose us points_!" he said, lower this time. "And for _what_? Some stupid little revenge?"

James lost his cool. "Well just because you're some goody two shoes boring little git doesn't mean the rest of us has to be," he said, regretting his words the moment they left his mouth.

He knew he'd gone too far, as Fred's expression turned to stone and his sister's eyes bulged with concern and discomfort. Silently, Fred turned on his heels and stormed off the Common Room.

Roxanne sighed. "James, why d'you always have to be like this," she said.

 

**DOMINIQUE**

 

Dominique felt comforted and warm, dining at the Great Hall. The light from the fires lit reflected beautifully on the shiny cutlery, and all around her was the intense smell of mince pie - her favourite. She had been silently listening to a heated debate on the ethical implications of Transfiguration for the past fifteen minutes.

"But it's still wrong!" fellow second year Leonard Beasant exclaimed, in almost comical frustration. His pale, freckled face had become decorated by strangely uneven patches of deep crimson, and his light blonde hair was a mess sticking in all directions, due to the unfortunate habit that the boy had of pulling at it when upset. "You're creating _life_! Life, Rupert!" he pleaded with his friend. The larger boy seemed unconvinced, pursing his thin lips and furrowing his thick, dark brows. "And then you just...take it away?"

"How's a half-witted gerbil that's awake for five seconds life? How's that life?" he asked, almost agressively.

"Doesn't matter if he's half-witted! He _is_ alive!" Leonard continued. "Besides, if you just _left it bloody alone_ , it could be alive for more than five seconds!"

"Oh, think of the bigger scheme, Leo, for Merlin's sake! We could achieve great things! Who cares if we transfigure a few gerbils along the way?" said Rupert.

"Oh really?" Leonard asked, in furious disbelief. "And just what has Transfiguration achieved in the past century?"

Leonard did have a point, Dominique thought. Though she didn't quite relate to the incredible empathy the boy felt for their Transfiguration subjects. She better not pitch in.

"And I'll tell you what," Leonard continued, though by that point Dominique had already tuned him out. Her mind was now focused on her sister, sitting a fair few seats to her right. She looked positively radiant. Her tight braid of light blonde curls almost seemed to glitter, lighter streaks standing out like strands of pure gold. She had a dreamy expression on her strangely large, dark blue eyes, and kept erupting into girlish fits of giggles presumably caused by jokes her friends were making.

What had made her sister so happy? Dominique wondered. She couldn't begin to grasp at the reason. As much as they did get along quite well, the two girls spoke different languages. She felt miles away from her sister; both in interests and in looks. Where her sister was delicate, she was rough, with a manly, square jaw and harsh cheekbones. Unlike her sister's angelic curls, Dominique's hair was pin straight, sometimes oily, and more of a reddish blonde. More like her father's. Victoire was shapely and curvy, whereas Dominique still looked like a scrawny little girl. Even their hands were quite different, she thought, and felt a bit ridiculous for it. But it was true: Victoire had small, elegant fingers, with dainty, feminine nails, whereas Dominique's hands were stubby and boyish, with bitten nails and the occasional cut. She felt something heavy sink inside her, and suddenly the Great Hall didn't look quite so beautiful. _You absolute git_ , Dominique suddenly thought. _Your sister's finally looking happier and all you can think about is how unfair it is that she's prettier than you_. Dominique rolled her eyes at herself.

Regardless of motive, it was a great thing that her sister's mood had finally brightened up. She'd been somber and restless ever since the start of term - or maybe even a bit before. Their mother really did put too much pressure on Victoire to be the student she had been at Beauxbatons. No wonder her sister occasionally cracked under it all.

"OI!" Rupert almost shouted, startling Dominique out of her thoughts. "Sorry, you weren't reacting," he explained. _'S alright_ , Dominique replied. "I was just noticing," he continued, "your cousin looks very sad," Rupert said, pointing at the Gryffindor table. "Why's he so sad?"

Dominique turned to look and immediately spotted a grim-looking Fred, shifting his gaze from one random corner of the Hall to another. With a huge pang of guilt, she remembered she never did get the time to press on the matter of his father. What a shit friend she was.

Checking to see if any teachers were looking, Dominique quickly got out of her seat and walked over to the Gryffindor table beside her.

"Move over," she said to the Gryffindors sitting in front of Fred, as she squeezed herself in.

"Oh hiya," her cousin said.

"Hiya. Nervous about try-outs?" she asked.

Fred cackled, though the laughter never reached his eyes. "Yeah. I suppose." He said nothing else.

"You wanna tell me about your dad?" she asked. Fred's eyes bulged, shocked that she would bring up such a personal subject in such a crowded place. "Don't worry. They're not listening in. _I_ can barely hear _you_ ," she assured him.

"It was... it was nothing. You know, just another episode. Woke up in the middle of the night screaming. For... screaming for Uncle Fred. And... Mum had to stay up with him till dawn. Because... Because the calming potions stopped working again. Mum's losing a lot of sleep on account of it. She says it's getting harder and harder for them to maintain Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. She told me all about it in a letter, last week."

For someone who insisted so much on getting Fred to talk about his father, Dominique was absolute rubbish on saying the right thing in these types of moments. "Is that why you're so sad?" she finally asked. What a stupid thing to ask.

"What?" Fred asked, confused. "Oh, no. Not really. It was just... something James said earlier."

"What did James say?!" Dominique asked, feeling anger build up inside her. As much as she loved her idiot of a cousin, he could be quite the insensitive little git sometimes.

"Well... Roxanne and him were planning on getting revenge on the twins, and they had this really stupid plan that would surely get them caught, and I told them off, and James called me a... ' _goody two shoes boring little git_ ', I think it was," he said, and Dominique could tell he felt embarrassed.

Once again, she had no idea what to say, because the truth was, Fred kind of _was_ a goody two shoes. Not boring, though. He was great! But he did have an annoying obsession with never setting one foot out of line.

"Oh," was the best she could come up with. "Well... I don't think sticking to the rules makes you boring."

"I think you're in the minority," Fred replied, smiling somberly. "Uncle Ron agrees with him. Remember? At the dinner party?"

"Yeah..." she said. "But what does Uncle Ron know? I once heard Uncle Harry say the only reason Uncle Ron was a prefect was because they couldn't pick Harry."

"Must have been joking, though."

"Well, yeah, but... maybe not. Anyway, at least you've never had to scrape vomit off some floor for having set off a couple of stink bombs. And I have a feeling James' academic career is going to full of that," she said.

Fred finally laughed with sincerity. "Bucket loads of vomit," he said.

"Barrel loads of vomit!" Dominique replied.

"Eww!" Fred said, and they both laughed at the thought of it.

"You know what we should do, this Saturday?" Dominique asked, after a small silence.

"Practise on the Quidditch Pitch like there's no tomorrow?" Fred asked.

Dominique smiled. "My thoughts exactly."

 


	4. Chapter 4

**JAMES**

"Can't believe you haven't apologised yet," Roxanne whispered, furiously scribbling down her History of Magic homework. James felt his stomach twist into a knot. "You can be such a twit sometimes," she added.

None of the students in the Study Hall minded their chattering, as they were, themselves, also chattering. Professor Flitwick slept peacefully on his desk.

"Well, I just..." James began. "I just haven't found the right moment yet," he claimed. "Besides, shouldn't you come with? The belch powder was your idea too!"

Quicker than a golden snitch, Roxanne picked up her copy of Seeker Weekly, set on the table in front of her, and slapped her cousin's shoulder with it. A risky move - but not enough to wake up Professor Flitwick.

"But I'm not the one who called him a boring little two shoes git!" she replied.

"Actually, it was two shoes boring little git," James corrected, sheepishly.

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure that's wrong!" Roxanne retorted. "Adjective order and everything."

"Why are you two talking about grammar?" asked Fern Haywood, a fellow Gryffindor first year sitting in front of them.

"We're not! He's changing the subject," Roxanne replied.

"Am not!" James protested.

"Listen," his cousin urged him, lower this time so that Fern could not hear them, "you've got to apologise to him. Tonight."

"Tonight? It's a bit late, don't you think?" James proposed. Roxanne stared at him, deadpan. "What about tomorrow? I think tomorrow would be best," he suggested.

"Fine. Tomorrow," Roxanne acquiesced.

James nodded, smiling uncomfortably. He hated apologising. Hated apologising to Mum, to Dad, to Albus, and _especially_ to Lily. He just never knew what to say. Or, more exactly, never knew how to say it. He always thought it either sounded insincere or really, really cheesy. Last thing he wanted was to be cheesy. Plus, he sorted of resented Fred for the whole ordeal. Not because he thought Fred had been wrong to take offense - he knew he'd crossed a line. He resented Fred because, due to the whole thing, he had been morally prohibited from spiking the twins' drink. Whatever harm he had done to his cousin would have become far worse if, on top of it, he'd actually gone through with the plan. So those two insufferable little shitworms had gotten away with turning James into a bloody tree. It just wasn't fair!

"Actually, it's great that you're planning on doing it tomorrow," Roxanne suddenly said.

"Yeah?" James replied.

"Yeah. Because tomorrow we're going to practise Quidditch, remember? And so are Fred and Dominique. I heard them talking about it in the hallway."

"Oh," was all that James could say.

"So both Dominique and I will be there to make sure you actually do it."

"Great," said James.

 

*

 

It wasn't great at all, James thought, as he woke up the following morning. He'd had the stupidest nightmare. He had dreamt that he was in the Quidditch pitch, along with Fred, Roxanne and Dominique. After finally mustering up the courage to speak, he'd found that Fred couldn't hear a word he was saying, because the twins, who had somehow apparated into the pitch, kept yelling POTTER STINKS! over and over again, as well as the occasional GHASTLY-SMELLING FREAK! - that and then, suddenly, his pants had also disappeared. Lovely.

 _I'm such a bloody twit_ , he thought, as he dragged himself out of bed and put his Quidditch gear on. Mum had bought it for him last Christmas - probably hoping that, just like Dad, he would make it onto the team despite being a first year. _Fat chance of that_.

" 'The bloody hell are you getting up so early for?" his fellow Gryffindor Eugene Aster asked, yanking the canopy drapes to face James with swollen, sleepy eyes. James began to formulate a response but was unsuccessful in communicating it, as Eugene, who was not a patient boy, had already blurted _Quit making so much noise_ and gone back to sleep.

"Well, alright..." James mumbled.

After applying his blessed, blessed deodorant, James headed down to the Great Hall, where he was greeted by a rather anxious Roxanne, who was also wearing Quidditch gear - James was sure Aunt Angelina had stolen the idea from his mum.

"Come on, hurry up," she said, drinking the last of her pumpkin juice. "They're already there, they've gone, we need to hurry up."

"But I've got to eat!" he protested. "I can't practise on an empty stomach!"

"You'll eat on the way there," Roxanne said, shoving a fresh croissant in his hands. "Let's go!" she urged, yanking him by the arm. With any hope of a peaceful breakfast abandoned, James sighed heavily and took a big bite of his croissant, following Roxanne out of the Castle.

The chilly, early morning air hit them with surprising force.

"Merlin," James exclamed.

"It's not so bad once we get a move on," Roxanne said, ever the optimist. "I'll race you down," she proposed, with a mischievous grin.

James rolled his eyes in exhasperation. "Well I can't run while I eat, now can I, Roxanne?" he said, making a purpose of saying it with his mouth full. "I'll puke my bloody guts out."

Roxanne grimaced in disgust. "Yeah, no thanks, I've already seen enough of that chewed up croissant," she replied, averting her eyes from his mouth.

And then it was James' turn to smile mischievously. "Oh, I don't think you have, Roxanne," he said, opening his mouth far and wide and forcing his cousin to look at it.

"Ew! Stop it!" she protested.

"Are you sure you have? I don't think you have!" James insisted, grabbing his cousin by the arms.

"Stop it! You're disgusting!" she said, laughing. "Let go of me, I'm running away!" Roxanne announced, and began running down the hill.

"Hey, that's a false start!" he exclaimed, swallowing the food in his mouth. "You said we weren't gonna race, it's a false start! Cheater!" he yelled laughing.

"I didn't actually say it!!" Roxanne pointed out, amid panted breaths.

"Cheeaaateerrr!" James continued, and by now he'd begun to run down the hill as well, one fifth of the croissant still in hand. "How'm I supposed to trust you as a team mate?!" he said, on the threshhold of catching up to his cousin.

"Don't worry about it, mate, because you're not going to make it in!" Roxanne replied, cackling.

"Say that to my face!!" James said, and was about to tackle his cousin when both of them stopped abruptly in their tracks, at the sight of an eyebrow-raising Madam Hooch.

"And what would two first year Gryffindors be doing at the Quidditch pitch on a Saturday?" the old woman asked.

James was the first to blurt out an answer. "Here to support our friends. Who are practising for the try-outs," he said, with an innocent smile. "And to show them what we've learnt so far with you, Madam Hooch," he added.

Madam Hooch looked the boy straight in the eyes for a few seconds, gaging the truth of his statement. "Get a move on, then," she finally said.

Both James and Roxanne sighed inwardly in relief.

"Thank you, Madam Hooch!" Roxanne exclaimed, and the old Quidditch coach gave them the hint of a smile as she walked towards the castle.

"Nice uniforms!" she added, without turning to look at them.

 _Thank you_ , they laughed, as they entered the Quidditch pitch.

"Merlin, you think she knows?" Roxanne asked.

"About what?" said James, smiling sardonically.

"What are you two doing here?" a voice asked, from what sounded like all the way across the field. It belonged to Dominique, who was looking sharp in a dark blue uniform. _Bloody hell, did everyone's mum have the same idea?_

"Here to practise, of course!" said Roxanne.

"Practise for what?" her brother replied, trailing behind Dominique. "You lot aren't even old enough yet."

James felt compelled to correct Fred, but thought better of it, given their recent conflict. Thankfully, Roxanne soon voiced his exact thoughts.

"Well, but Uncle Harry," she began, only to be interrupted by her brother.

"We all know Uncle Harry's story. But he was the only one in a century! Do you two really think you're _that_ special?"

At this point, James could hold it no further.

"Well I am his _bloody son_!" he retorted, in an irked tone, and earned disapproving looks from both Roxanne and Dominique. Fred looked at him, blankily. "Right, sorry," he said, afterwhich there was silence.

Roxanne elbowed him ever so gently. "Uhm, Fred? Could we have a chat? Alone?" he asked.

His cousin looked at him as if James had made a very strange request. "Alright," he finally said, sheepish. James gestured awkwardly for Fred to follow him.

Having gotten far enough from every hearing soul, both boys stopped. James cleared his throat, and Fred smiled coily at that.

"Right, I wanted to..." he began, and instantly regretted begining thusly. "Wanted to _apologise_ ," he managed to say, though Merlin knew it pained him, "for that thing I said the other night. About you being a git and stuff. I didn't mean it. You're not a git, and you're not boring. I was just... I was just angry."

Fred's smile had died away, but he was looking earnestly at his cousin.

"Can you... can you forgive me?" James asked.

There was silence. "Yeah," Fred said. James couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. "But don't make such a big deal out of it, bloody hell," Fred added, looking embarrassed as they both started to walk back towards the girls.

"Sorry," James laughed.

To the surprise of no one, Dominique and Roxanne had been watching them attentively the entire time.

"Aw, made up, have you?" Dominique asked, snarkily.

"Oh, shut it, Dom, let's get back on our brooms," Fred said, smiling. James was pretty sure that if it weren't for his cousin's dark skin, he'd be blushing by now.

"Wait!" Roxanne yelled. "Where can _we_ get brooms?"

"In the closet!" Dominique yelled back, pointing at the other side of the pitch.

"Cheers!" Roxanne replied.

James hadn't said a word since they'd come back. Tired of waiting, Roxanne probed him, as they walked to the broom closet.

"See, now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

James grimaced. "It was... It was rubbish, I didn't like it. I never like it, I don't like apoligising," he admitted, unware of his cousin's eyeroll. "But I had to do it. It wasn't very nice, what I said the other day. So I had to do it."

"Yeah," Roxanne agreed.

"Why do you think he _is_ this way? So...you know, uptight?" James asked. "I mean, he is your brother, you spend a lot more time with him than I do."

Roxanne furrowed her brows. "I don't know. He's always been this way, I think. Just gotten more intense lately. But... I think he was just born like this."

"Fair enough," said James, opening the broom closet. Underwhelmingly, it was dusty, full of shabby-looking brooms, and smelled very strongly of camphor balls.

"Ah, bloody hell!" Roxanne exclaimed, though cursing was not in her habit. James laughed, and looked at her, surprised.

 

**VICTOIRE**

 

Ravenclaw tower was quiet that Saturday afternoon. Victoire sighed in contempt as she got through her weekly reading for History of Magic. Next week they would be studying the Goblin Rebellion of 1652, and its effect on Goblin-Wizard relationships. Victoire found it all quite fascinating, though she was constantly desmayed at Professor Binns' ability to make everything sound mind-numbingly boring. A boy sat next to her on the sofa facing the large gothic window. Claudius Barlow, the older Ravenclaw who Victoire had seen Teddy with, that day on the Hogwarts Express. Victoire had an idea.

"Barlow?" she said.

"Yeah?"

"You and Teddy are friends?"

"Yeah."

"He went to Spain this Summer."

"Yeah, he did. Had a good time I think."

"Did he bring you back any souvenirs?"

"What, me?" he asked. Victoire nodded. "No." Victoire tried not to smile. "Did he bring you?"

"Yeah. Headband," she said, pointing to it on her head. "It was very sweet of him."

"Oh. Yeah, Teddy's great. You two going out or something?"

Victoire wasn't sure what to say. "No. I think he's just being nice."

"Yeah, probably. Probably for the best, as well. He is quite a bit older than you."

Victoire nodded, attempting to look serious. "It would be far too weird."

"Yeah." The older boy stared out the window to the meadows beyond, looking slightly disturbed by what he had just heard.

Victoire frowned, slightly. Did _he_ fancy her? Had she just been incredibly rude? She hoped not. Eitherway, she was just too bloody excited to worry too much about it. Of course there was still the possibility of Teddy having given many other people souvenirs, but she had no real way of finding that out, since Barlow was the only friend of Teddy who wasn't related to her and with whom she felt close enough to talk to. The last thing she wanted was for any of her cousins to know about her crush, or their kiss; but Barlow being suspicious of it wasn't really that big of an issue. He didn't seem like the type to gossip.

So Victoire would just have to trust that she had indeed been the sole receiver of Teddy's gifts. And that thought made her feel very, very happy; so much so her cheeks were burning. She felt like she had to do something. Return the kindness. For instance - why not invite Teddy to accompany her to Hogsmeade next weekend? To go browsing through Tomes and Scrolls. She knew Teddy liked to read; she'd seen him pouring over this book or the other countless times over the years. In fact, it had been one of the things that had first attracted her to him. Yes, this was a good plan. He might just say yes!

But how to ask him? In person? By note? Was a note too impersonal? Perhaps, but _Merlin_ , it would be so much easier. Yes, a note. It wouldn't be a bad thing to play it cool, a bit. She picked up her bag and went to sit at one of the desks on the opposite side of the common room. Fishing a spare bit of parchment out of her bag, as well as her quill and ink well, she began to -

She began to do absolutely nothing, because she had no idea of what to write. _Hey Teddy please go out with me?_ Well, no, Merlin's beard. She had to come up with something better than that. _Teddy, I had hoped you could accompany me to Hogsmeade next Saturday_ \- no, too ruddy formal. Oh, cricket. Why was everything so hard?!

 _Right, just write_.

Teddy,

 

As a thank you for your kind gift, I thought I'd invite you to come with me to Tomes and Scrolls next Saturday. They have some new Alchemy books I'd been hoping to check out. Care to join?

 

Love,

Victoire

 

She still felt it was too cheesy, and formal, and childish at the same time, but there was no point in writing it any other way. The important thing was to get her message across. T-e-d-d-y w-i-l-l y-o-u g-o- o-u-t w-i-t-h m-e-? Now she just had to accidentally find herself in the same hallway as him. Close enough to reach but not so close that she couldn't run away after delivering her message.

And she got her opportunity the following Monday - in the break between her History of Magic class and her Potions class, she spotted Teddy in a hall close to the dungeons. She had been carrying around the message in her pocket since Saturday, just in case - and when she saw him, she quickly pulled it out, and, with her wand, fashioned it into a songbird, just like she'd practised. It came out pretty good, in her opinion; but she had no time to contemplate her work, as Teddy was just about to turn the corner. With a quick tap of the wand, she brought the songbird alive and told it to fly towards Teddy. She stood around just long enough to see the bird landing on his shoulder, and then took off as quick as she could, heart galloping madly.

 

**MOLLY**

 

The day of Molly's first tutoring session with Victoire had finally come. She was so excited she could _JUMP_! But she wouldn't - she wouldn't jump. _That would hardly be appropriate_ , she thought, as she waited for her cousin in the Ravenclaw Common Room.

It was early - _very_ early. Neither of the girls had wanted to go over curfew to have their little sessions, so they'd agreed to schedule them to the hour before classes started - which meant waking up before dawn, yes, but, in the end, wasn't it worth it? Molly certainly seemed to think so. And Victoire, even if she didn't share the sentiment, had been kind enough to agree.

Molly fumbled in her seat - one of the Common Room's many spacious sofas - , anxiously trying to find a more comfortable position. Truth be told, no position could be comfortable right now, because what Molly wanted was for her behind to be _out_ of the sofa and _in_ the Potions Dungeon, learning precious, precious information.

The Potions classes had been alright thus far. Last Monday they'd prepared a Sleeping Draught. Molly had done quite decently, she thought. At least, she was the only one in the class that escaped Professor Munkwell's dry, disappointed remarks. Though he hadn't praised her, either.

That's what Molly was looking to get out of this whole tutoring deal. She just wanted to earn some praise from her favourite professor. He always looked so aloof, so utterly disengaged. She wondered what it would be like to see that dispassionate, marble face come alive with the burning flame of approval. Or even the slight shock of amazement, followed by discreetly communicated respect. There was nothing Molly wanted more. She'd never craved somebody's approval this badly, not even her parents' -

"Ready to go?" Victoire said, come from the dormitories upstairs. Though her big blue eyes wore dark undercircles, her cousin looked happy and perfectly groomed, holding her satchel bag.

"Yes!" Molly blurted out, and the two girls silently made their way out of Ravenclaw tower.

Whereas Molly's step was frenetic and irregular, Victoire's was calm and assured. The girl was walking with a perfectly straight back, with her neat, tight braid resting peacefully against her left shoulder. Molly felt jealous of her cousin's beauty and composure, for a second, but then thought better of it.

"You seem awfully happy, today," she decided to comment. It wasn't like her to inquire after other people's lives, but, then again, neither was asking for tutoring sessions. Molly felt she should continue this string of spontaneity.

"I am," her cousin responded, smiling. She didn't appear keen on sharing her motives.

"That's good," Molly said, defeated.

"What about you?" Victoire asked. "How's school going so far?"

"Fairly well, I'd say," she replied, accepting the role reversion. "Though one does get a bit tired of the slow pace."

Victoire smiled, understanding. "And how is Potions going?"

"Oh, not so slow there, yes," Molly admitted. "Professor Munkwell's been treating us to his usual speed. Thank Merlin for that. He really is the most outstanding professor I've had so far," the girl said.

Victoire smiled again, though this time in a somewhat condescending manner. "You'll have plenty more. Especially next year, when you get to chose your electives."

"Yes, well... perhaps," Molly acquiesced, begrudgingly. She was absolutely certain that no other teacher in her student career would ever surpass Professor Munkwell, but there was no point in making a fuss about the disagreement. Especially considering she was so very dependent on Victoire's good will.

"And we're here," Victoire said, standing in front of the dungeon's door. They'd picked a Tuesday, since no one had Potions on first period, that day.

Molly felt jittery all over as she watched her older cousin discreetly alohomora the door. Though no one ever went out looking for out-of-bed students at the crack of dawn, breaking into one of the Castle's classroom was still, Molly figured, rather frowned upon. She really didn't want to get caught. That would be catastrophic - she couldn't even think about it.

"Quickly, now," Victoire said, urging Molly inside.

Closing the door carefully, Victoire turned to look at her younger cousin, who was already standing behind one of the desks with an expectant gaze.

"Right," the blonde girl said. "Let's begin."

 

**DOMINIQUE**

Dominique sighed for the hundreth time as she went over the moves in her head, sat on her bedspread. Try-outs were only a few days away and, to be honest, she felt as if she were about to shit herself.

Fred and her had been practising like maniacs for the past week but she still didn't feel confident in her abilities at all. Which was...hilarious, considering how optimistic she'd tried to sound when talking to Fred. But the truth was, Dominique felt just as unsure as he did. She desperately wanted to get in, even if there was still a little voice on the back of her head nagging on about how Ravenclaw maybe wasn't the right team for her. And about how darn good her cousins looked in their Gryffindor Quidditch gear.

What _had_ Roxanne and James been up to, anyway? What was the point of them practising as much as they had been? They weren't allowed to try out for another year! They had to be up to something. Dominique felt painfully curious to find out. And slightly hurt, too, that she'd been excluded from it - had they told Fred? She wondered. Probably so. _It's probably some big, Gryffindor conspiracy_ , Dominique thought, as she sighed once more and hopped off her bed.

Her stomach was already ravenously rumbling as she went down the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower. Dominique wondered what was for dinner tonight - and had her thoughts interrupted by a clear, wonderful singing voice, carelessly humming along to some cheerful melody.

It belonged to her sister!

"Oh hiya, Dom," Victoire said, practically skipping down the steps. "See you at dinner!" she said, and her singing recommenced.

"Hiya," she replied, slightly dumbstruck. It would seem her sister's happy streak had not only continued, but intensified. The girl now looked positively ecstatic! It certainly had something to do with that note she had seen her sister receive, the other day, thought Dominique with a sudden flash of rememberance. Whatever had been written in the note that some upperclassman had handed her had filled Victoire with such joy that she had almost squealed, in the middle of the Common Room. Again, Dominique felt a frustrating shroud of mystery surrouding the lives of those around her. Was Victoire going on a date with the older Ravenclaw who had given her the note? Who was he, anyway? Dominique could not remember. She had only registered... dark brown hair, she guessed? She wasn't even sure of that.

Well, whatever was happening, Dominique was very glad for it, because it had seemingly breathed new life into her older sister. She hoped good luck would continue to follow her. And...herself as well, if that wasn't too much to ask. At least during try-outs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:  
> 1 - Wotters: Weasleys + Potters  
> 2 - One of my pet peeves when it comes to Harry Potter fanfiction is when writers make characters use American expressions. If you at any point catch me doing that, please let me know.

**DOMINIQUE**

Dominique knew it was _way_ early when she woke up the day of try-outs. Her mornings at Hogwarts were usually filled with the chatter of bustling students, talking in their beds, talking down the stairs, laughing _way_ too loud in the common room... It also didn't help that she usually woke up a bit late. But not today - that Saturday morning she heard no voices at all; only soft rain tapping against the windows of Ravenclaw Tower.

She was fairly surprised that she'd gone to sleep the night before as easily as she did; she had half-expected to toss and turn for hours before finally getting some rest. But she had fallen asleep almost immediately, and now felt quite well-rested. And she didn't even feel nervous, at all! How fortunate.

Dominique heard someone come into the dormitory - had she been wrong about the time of day? Was she actually _late_?!

Drawing open the canopy bed curtains, she searched the room just in time to see two pinkish feet quickly wiggle themselves inside. _Molly_? That _was_ her bed - Dominique was sure. And everyone else's curtains were still drawn closed - so it _was early_ , after all, Dominique realised, with a sigh of relief. But... Molly, out of bed? What was the girl up to? Dominique felt thoroughly confused. It was hardly like her cousin to do anything of the sort. In fact, Molly often gave _Dominique_ the side-eye for pulling similar stunts. The absolute hypocrite!

She spent a good fifteen minutes trying to figure out what Molly was brewing before she conveniently remembered that she _ought_ to be focusing more on her _own_ life - specifically, the try-outs she'd be going to that morning.

In a daze, she went over everything in her head. Alright. Posture. Balance. Calmness. All will be well. _Merlin, I hope they don't pick me as a Keeper_ , she thought. Dominique loved flying and had a wicked aim, but she was bloody terrible at goal-keeping. So she'd much rather be a Chaser - and she knew the Ravenclaw Quidditch team had two open spots - Keeper and Chaser. This was the bloody Sorting Ceremony all over again. Hopefully she'd be luckier this time.

She wondered if Fred was awake yet. She also wondered if he'd slept as well as she - probably not. Fred was very much the type to suffer from insomnia on nights like these. Especially considering the letters he'd been getting from his mother. She hoped the pressure hadn't gotten to him completely - it would be tragic if he didn't make it on the Gryffindor Quidditch team because of stress-induced exhaustion. Fred was an excellent flier! And, unlike Dominique, would make an excellent Keeper, even if he still had the lithe body of a 12 year old. He was pretty tall, though, just like Uncle George and Aunt Angelina - and that made up for it.

Dominique smiled, thinking of the great times they'd had all those summers practising Quidditch at the Burrow. Zigzagging alongside the confused frogflies, dipping down to pick up a gnome by his grubby, disgruntled little hand, only to (gently) drop him off a few yards away. Racing each other anywhere and everywhere. Stopping to watch the sun set from all the way up in their brooms. Being called for supper by Grandma Molly. _Get inside, you pair of owls! I've never seen children like these!_ It always did take them a while to get back inside.

She hoped very deeply that none of those memories would be stained by a temporary failure. But no, surely they wouldn't - surely all would go according to plan (though, truth be told, they had decided on not actually having a plan), and Fred and Dominique would have many, many Quidditch practices ahead. Not that different teams ever practised together, but, they'd most definitely manage to schedule some extra practice themselves.

Someone was slowly opening their bed curtains. Molly? The faker!

"Oh, who the h..." a nasally voice began. Okay, not Molly, then. Harriet Wells. "Right, which one of you ate my Blood Jam Chocolates?" the girl asked, exhasperated. Dominique panicked, for a second - _was it me_? No, no. Not this time.

"Shhhhhhhh" someone replied, lazily.

"Don't you shush me, Juliana!" Harriet retorted. "I bet it was you!"

" 'Ss early, keep it down," mumbled an unfazed Juliana Plunkett, pulling her bed curtains closer together.

"It was you, wasn't it!" Harriet continued.

 _Right, this isn't going to get any better, so I might as well go get dressed_ , Dominique thought, and left the room just as Juliana sheepishly admitted "Well it's not my fault they're so bloody delicious". They _were_ pretty damn tasty - which was why they were never safe at any spot in the castle. Except perhaps in McGonagall's office.

Dominique felt fresh and alert as she entered the Great Hall after a long, warm bath. She furrowed her reddish-blonde brows as she spotted Fred already sitting at the Gryffindor table, back unsually upright, casually eating a slice of toast.

"Morning," she said, sitting down next to him and picking up a croissant. The whole of Gryffindor table was by this point used to making extra room for Dominique - which wasn't even necessary, that morning, because it was so early.

"Morning," he replied, wiping bread crumbs off the corner of his mouth and not making eye contact with Dominique. He was looking intently at the Daily Prophet spread out in front of him.

"Sleep well?" she asked, insisting.

"Not at all," he replied, matter-of-factly.

"You didn't sleep well at all?"

"I didn't _sleep_ at all," he clarified.

Dominique's eyes grew wider. "You haven't slept?!"

"Well you don't have to say it like _that_ ," Fred retorted. "I did try, you know. But I just...couldn't, apparently. It's amazing what my brain can do, sometimes."

"Well...are you okay?" Dominique asked. "Are you still trying out?"

Fred furrowed his brows. "Of course I'm still trying out!" he exclaimed, spreading marmelade on another piece of toast.

"Okay. Well, good. How d'you feel?"

"I'm alright, I think. I think it'll be alright," he assured her. "How about you? D'you sleep well?"

"Yeah, amazingly, actually. But I totally expected to be up all night like you were."

 _Lucky you_ , Fred mumbled, mouth full of toast.

"Are you nervous?" Dominique asked.

Fred nodded. "Shitting my pants." Dominique smiled. It wasn't like him to curse so freely. "I think that's what's keeping me awake."

Dominique cackled. "Ha, well, whatever it takes," she said, eating the last of her croissant. "Ready?" she asked, still chewing some sugary dough.

"Yeah," Fred replied, half-excited, half-in-pain.

They made their way out of the castle in silence, only speaking again when the chilly Autumnal air enveloped them.

"Suppose you're not nervous, at all," said Fred, sheepishly, as they treaded down the hill.

"Only a bit, I think," Dominique replied. "I'm mostly not thinking about it."

Fred chuckled. "Right. Should teach me how to do that, sometime."

Dominique smiled, and shrugged her shoulders. She wasn't sure Fred's anxious nature could be changed.

She rubbed his arm, tenderly. "It'll be alright, mate." She figured it was a nice thing to say, true or not.

The Quidditch pitch looked slightly daunting that morning, tall and cold against a grayish-blue sky.

"You're here!" an energetic, enthusiastic James exclaimed as soon as Dominique and Fred stepped onto the Quidditch pitch. He and Roxanne were leaning against one of the wooden tower structures.

"Stating the obvious, I see," Dominique replied, earning herself a scowl from her cousin.

"Question is," replied Fred, "what are _you_ doing here?"

"Supporting you, of course," said James, in a way so mischievous that Roxanne couldn't help snickering conspiratorially.

"Right," replied Fred, unconvinced, but much too preoccupied with his immediate future to pursue the matter further. "Just... just don't bugger this up, okay? This is important."

"I _dare_ say, my fair cousin," began James, with an air of false indignation which made Fred roll his eyes in exasperation, "you do make the most _heinous_ accusations..."

"I'm gonna have a wee," Fred said, interrupting James' incipient speech.

"Hurry up," Dominique replied, and Fred gave her a nod, looking quite nauseous.

The pitch was far fuller than Dominique had expected. There were around... 20 students there? Thankfully, the vast majority were not Ravenclaws. Of those, there were only 3 - Kieran Williams, Addison Prewett and Christopher Sulling. Two second years and one third year. She had a chance! Probably. She'd never seen them fly, but surely they couldn't be _that_ good. Besides, there were two available spots, so. All would be well.

Dominique had barely thrown a glance at the Gryffindor bundle when a tough, female voice caught her attention.

"Right, Ravenclaws first!" a tall girl with frizzy blonde hair tied in a bun said, hardly looking at said Ravenclaws. Abelia Smith was captain this year? _But of course_ , Dominique thought. Her elder brother, Herbert (with hair that Dominique remembered was also blonde, also frizzy, though obviously far shorter) had left Hogwarts this year, leaving the Ravenclaw Captain spot vacant. And she supposed the team thought it natural to hand the title to someone who shared the genes of the shrewdly strategic boy who had granted them so many victories.

Dominique couldn't lie, she was getting some satisfaction from the fact that the Quidditch captain was a girl. Especially considering that the rest of the Ravenclaw team was all boys, and had been, for quite a while, according to what Teddy had told her. Would this somehow give her an advantage today? Dominique grew excited at the thought at first, but then changed her mind, as she was adamant on getting in on pure talent.

"Ah bloody hell, it's started to rain," Abelia said, with her usual delicacy. And indeed it had - heavily, as well. Would they cancel the try-outs for bad weather? Dominique thought in anguish. After all that practise and anticipation! Speaking of anticipation, where was Fred?

"Right, well, we'll just do our best, given the conditions," the sixth year captain declared. "On your brooms!" she ordered. She sort of reminded Dominique of a drill sergeant, but an amateur one. She thought it was endearing.

The young Ravenclaws got on their brooms, as commanded, as rose steadily against the hard droplets of rain. Out of the corner of her eye, Dominique could see Fred back on the Quidditch pitch, next to James and Roxanne, clapping his hands enthusiastically. She smiled. _Right, look forwards_.

Abelia had gotten on her broom as well and was still mid-air in front of them. "What positions are you lot trying out?" she asked them, her voice barely audible because of the rain.

"Chaser!" Dominique shouted, perhaps a bit too loudly.

"Keeper," Christopher Sulling said.

"Chaser," said Kieran Williams, and Addison Prewett followed suit.

 _Bloody hell_ , she cursed inwardly. _Two people to compete with_.

"Okay, Keeper first, then!" Abelia said, and motioned Christopher forward. The boy's shaggy brown hair was in a dreadfully drenched state, threatening to get in the way of his general sight. Christopher kept trying to comb it backwards with his fingers as he followed Abelia on his broom. Dominique would've found it somewhat comical if she weren't so preoccupied with the two other possible Ravenclaw Chasers flying next to her.

"Good luck to you both," she told them, regretting it immediately. _Merlin, that was awfully passive-aggressive of me_.

Kieran nodded. Addison didn't seem to have heard her - Dominique could hardly blame him, it seemed the rain was getting even worse.

Christopher's trial was short and sweet. Abelia tried to shoot a couple of hoops with growing aggressiveness and skill and the young boy defended every single one of them. He was good, Dominique realised - very good. She was glad he wasn't trying out for Chaser.

And now it was her turn. _Okay. Breathe deeply_.

"Now," Abelia announced, having come back to the three expectants, "I'm going to the defend the hoops, and you lot," she said, passing the Quaffle to a jumpy Kieran, "are going to try and score. Work together, as a team. All right?"

 _I'm supposed to work as a team with these two?!_ Dominique thought. _They're my competition!_

"All right," said Addison.

_Right, guess I've got to._

**JAMES**

 

A soaking wet, angry-looking Dominique was walking towards them. As soon as she was close enough to hear him, James spoke.

"So?! What's the verdict?" he asked.

"Abelia said she was going to talk it over with her teammates," her cousin replied, looking positively furious.

"Is that what's got you so upset?" Roxanne asked, with furrowed brow.

"No, I'm mad because that bloody Addison _git_ ," Dominique began, but had not yet finished when the booming voice of the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain made itself heard.

"Well, that's me, then," Fred said, already mid-power-walk.

"Good luck, Fred!" Dominique shouted, pausing her anger, and James and Roxanne yelled similar words of encouragement. "As I was saying, that stupid Addison git almost tried to _knock me off my broom_!" the young Weasley exclaimed.

"What?!" blurted Roxanne, aghast. The absolute tosser! Thought James.

"I hope to Merlin Abelia saw it, or I might _knock him out_ with _my_ broom! _Manually_!" Dominique almost shouted, and James couldn't help but laugh.

"Well, maybe knocking Addison out isn't the _best_ way to start your Quidditch career," he interjected, earning a sharp elbow jab from Roxanne. _What_ , he asked her, laughing.

"Look! Fred's already flying!" Roxanne exclaimed, pointing excitedly at the the three large hoops at the center of the pitch. And there was Fred, looking steady and calm.

Weirdly steady and calm, considering how jittery he'd been all week. Hell, all _month_.

"Merlin, I hope this goes well for him," prayed Dominique, and James nodded in agreement.

Roxanne jabbed him again, looking at him intently. _Right, it's now or never_. But what were they going to say to Dominique?

"Uhhhh, Roxanne and I need a wee. Back in a bit," he mumbled, and trotted off with his cousin, leaving behind a very confused Dominique.

 

**DOMINIQUE**

 

Were those two weeing together, now?! Dominique wondered. Surely not. The two gremlins had to be up to something. She felt a sudden surge of anger at her younger cousins for always looking to ruin the fun for everyone, and felt her anger increase when she spotted a smug-looking Addison strutting towards the locker rooms. _Probably doesn't want to spend another second in sweaty Quidditch gear. Might injure his stupid spotless skin_.

 _Focus on Fred, you turd_. Oh, and they'd already begun! Fred was defending the hoops as the other four - or was it five? - Gryffindor hopefuls tried to score against him. No, it was only four of them who were trying to score - the fifth was far away, flying at random. That could only mean one of two things: either he was absolutely hopeless, or he was trying out for Seeker and having a damn difficult time spotting the snitch in the midst of the heavy rain. Dominique felt a bit bad for the poor boy, whose identity was a mystery, given the distance.

Heavily engrossed in Fred's performance, she almost managed to forget her own anxieties. He was doing _well_! He was actually doing _very well_! She felt so proud of him she kept cheering and yelling random words of incentive standing in the pouring rain.

Dominique grew suddenly quiet (not that anyone noticed), confusion settling on her brow. Then recognition dawned on her and her freckly jaw dropped.

James and Roxanne had weasled their way into the try-out! The absolute nerve those two had! She saw Fred stumble slightly on his broom, looking at his cousins confusedly. And the two were acting like it was the most natural thing in the world! Signaling the other players to pass them the Quaffle. Those, thankfully, hadn't noticed anything strange, as they were too engrossed in their own performance, and weren't as familiar with the faces of the two young delinquents.

Dominique looked at Timothy Calderon, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain (Tim the Dim, as people sometimes called him behind his back). For a while, it didn't seem like he'd noticed anything different, but after a few minutes Dominique saw his head recoil in surprise, and the tall, athletic boy got on his broom immediately and waved his muscular arm threateningly, yelling at her cousins to _Bugger off, you twats_!

Though she opposed to hearing someone call her little cousins _twats_ , it did serve them right.

" _Weasley!_ " Abelia Smith's strong voice called. "I'm not calling you _again_!"

"Sorry!" yelled Dominique, and began power-walking in a startled panic. _They must have come a decision_.

**JAMES**

 

" _We almost did it_!" Roxanne whispered to him, furiously. " _We almost bloody did it!_ " He'd never seen her as angry as she was now.

"I _know_ , alright?! I know," he replied, slumping down on the grass. The rain had started to abate, and a very faint rainbow could be seen in the sky. "If it weren't for that stupid Calderon bloke."

Roxanne managed to sigh in a very aggressive way. "Where's my brother?" she asked.

James looked up. "He's over there," he said, pointing towards the mass of Gryffindors. Calderon was walking towards said bunch, in long, vigorous strides. "Hey, I think he's going to announce who got in," mumbled James.

Brown eyes widening, Roxanne tugged at his sleeve and started walking towards the group.

James followed suit, feeling the weight of his fellow Gryffindor's wary looks. That is, with the exception of Fred's, who was doing his utmost best to avoid eye-contact altogether.

Doing his best to ignore them as well, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain began to speak.

"So... Weasley, you're our new Keeper, and Hornby and Patel, you're our new Chasers. And that's that," he announced. _How unfair!_ Hornby and Patel were average, at best.

"Cheers, mate," replied Fred, somber expression now exchanged for a smile as wide as his face, though Timothy Calderon barely acknowledged him, as he was already walking away.

James could feel his cheeks burning. He hoped it wasn't showing too much. "We have to say something," he whispered to Roxanne. _Not here_ , she whispered back, and motioned him to follow. The two Gryffindors trailed after the captain.

When the three were far enough not to be heard, Roxanne blurted out the older boy's name a bit louder than James assumed she'd intended. Timothy turned around, facing them with a quizzical expression.

"Uhm," stuttered Roxanne, and was after that reduced to silence.

Mustering all the courage he had, James picked up on where his partner-in-crime had left off. "We just think your decision might have been a bit unfair," he finally said.

"Sorry?" said Calderon, thick, light-brown eyebrows furrowing in a way that made James think the boy slightly resembled a dog.

"Well, you know full well that Hornby and Patel are average, alright," James continued. Might as well go for it, now. "They're average at best. Roxanne and I were on the pitch not five minutes and we flew way better than them, I reckon. And I reckon this whole "first years can't make the teams" is really unfair, I think it's really not..."

"Unfair? You think just because you're Wotters that I'm gonna give you special treatment?" he barked, using the composite term that made James cringe. "That's what's unfair, _I reckon_!"

"Well! Fred's a Weasley, you let _him_ in!" retorted Roxanne, her cheeks turning slightly red.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't my decision," said Calderon, with an unpleasant scowl on his face. "If it were up to me we would pick on merit alone," he added, with particular emphasis on the final two words.

James saw Roxanne's brown eyes grow wide. "Oh you absolute twa", began Roxanne, but Calderon had already started walking away.

"Now, if you don't mind, I have better things to do than explain my decisions to you two midgets," he said carelessly to the wind, leaving them behind.

After a small, rather awkward pause, James finally spoke. "Well that didn't go over very well, did it," he sighed.

Roxanne's irritation had reduced her to a stony silence, jaw clenched and small hands thrust deep into her pockets.

"I guess we might as well go meet Fred and Dominique," he suggested, and his cousin nodded in disgruntled agreement.

The rain had abated, now, and was just a slight drizzle that felt sort of nice on James' face. He was unsure of how to feel. He was usually the one who got really mad and blurted out profanities - not Roxanne. But, then again, Calderon had insulted not only her entire family but also her brother, in specific. He looked over at his cousin, trying to assess the situation. Yep, she was still pretty mad. He was honestly surprised he didn't feel angrier _himself_. Perhaps he was just two caught up contemplating the role-reversal that had occurred.

"What did you do?" asked an embarrassed, nervous Fred, as soon as they had come within his earshot. Dominique was nowhere in sight.

James was about to say "Nothing, calm down, calm down" when Roxanne suddenly spoke.

"That turd!" she yelled. "That absolute turd!"

Fred motioned her to keep it down. Probably afraid his recent teammates would overhear his little sister insulting the team captain. James rolled his eyes inwardly.

"What did you say to him?" asked Fred.

Again, just as James was about to speak, Roxanne cut in.

"Doesn't matter what we said! Matters is, he implied that you only got in because of some Weasley special status!" she said, and her brother's face darkened, brows furrowing. He looked at James for confirmation.

"He did say that, yeah," nodded James.

" _And_ he called us midgets!" added Roxanne.

"He did indeed call us midgets," James repeated.

Roxanne turned to him, smacking his arm. "How come _you're_ not mad?!"

"Hey!" James protested. "I _am_ mad!" he said. "I'm just...also sort of shocked by the whole thing."

Roxanne looked at Fred, expectantly.

"I thought... I thought they'd all liked me. That they'd all thought I was good," he said, defeated.

Roxanne came to her senses, and her body relaxed, slightly. "Hey, they did. I think it was just... Tim the Dim who didn't like you. Proves his name right."

"Yeah...maybe," concluded Fred.

Dominique had finally returned, and brought with her a giant grin. "So? Did you two ninny-heads get in trouble for that stunt you tried to pull?" she asked, in a good-natured way.

"No, but Calderon called them midgets and said I only got in because I'm a Weasley," answered Fred, succinctly, making Dominique's smile disappear.

"He what?" she asked. "But wait, you got it? That's fantastic!"

"Not if I got in through pity. Because of my stupid Weasley status."

"Hey," said Dominique, grabbing Fred by the shoulder, delicately. "I'm sure that's not true. Calderon was probably just saying that to hurt you. He's probably just jealous of you."

Fred frowned, befuddled. "Jealous of what?"

"Of your sick moves," Dominique replied, in a low tone, with a tentative smile. Fred smiled, and his smile grew wider because of James' laughter.

"You are a pretty good Keeper," James admitted.

"He's a _great_ Keeper!" corrected Roxanne. "The _best_ Keeper!"

"Oh, alright, alright, I'm walking away, now," said Fred, still smiling, heading to the locker rooms.

"Hey!" shouted Dominique, startling him. " _I_ got in as well!" she announced, and saw his face light up. "I'm a Chaser!"

"Oh yeah?" asked Fred. _Yeah_ , replied Dominique. "Catch me, then!" Fred said, and then bolted to the locker rooms. After a second of hesitation, Dominique bolted after him.

 

 

**MOLLY**

 

The potions dungeon smelled awfully of fish. Were this any other fishy situation, Molly Weasley's nose would have been permanently scrunched in disgust - but not today, because they were going to make a Swelling Solution and Molly was _bloody excited_ (not that she would ever utter the word 'bloody'). But she was really rather enthused, because this concoction was precisely the one that Victoire and she had gone over, on their first tutoring session together. So she couldn't wait to get her hands on the puffer fish in front of her and show Professor Munkwell just how skilled she was.

The potions master was looking rather bored as he stared at the instructions he'd just written on the black board, and then at his students, and then back again at the black board. Finally, he stopped, running his hand through his shaggy, sandy-blonde hair.

"Yes, well," he finally said. "Get to it," he ordered, pointing his students towards the written instructions.

And get to it Molly did. She handled those nettles, fish eyes and bat spleens with the care one would give a most treasured possession, and watched over her brass cauldron with fierce concentration. So much so that she didn't even notice Professor Munkwell's presence beside her station until he spoke.

"That's good," he said, with his usual stony expression, accompanied by a curt nod.

Molly needed no mirror to know that her face had turned almost as red as her hair. "I'm not done yet," she said.

"Yes," her professor replied. "But it's good. Carry on," he said, moving on to other students.

Apparently, she had been rendered mute, and couldn't find it in herself to say "Thank you, Professor Munkwell". She stared with wide, embarrassed green eyes at a random point in space. _What an absolute idiot I am_. But because she did not wish to lose herself in self-pity instead of finishing the draught, she carried on.

She finished her potion long before everybody else did, using the spare time to go over her notes on the Swelling Solution. She would probably need to re-write them - they weren't as neat as she would like. _Clear notes for a clear mind_ , her mother always said. Very true! Molly thought.

Half an hour passed.

"Well," began Professor Munkwell, checking the hourglass set on his table, "that should suffice. Your solutions should be ready by now. Any volunteers for the intake?" he joked, maintaining his usual deadpan look, but Molly was the only one that laughed. Her imbecile classmates were obviously too obtuse to understand his sense of humour. The professor cleared his throat. "Right," he concluded, fishing a small leather pouch from his pockets. "This will do."

And so he carefully dipped into each potion the chosen pouch. The vast majority of them did absolutely nothing to increase the size of the thing; a few provoked some timid growths. But only Molly's concoction made the pouch swell absolutely enormously - so much so that the Potions Master quickly cast a _Reducto_ at it, followed by a Scouring Charm. Molly tried her best not to smile _too_ much.

"Right," her teacher said, raising his eyebrows and making his way back to the front of the class. "Most draughts were really, truly unsatisfactory," he said, leaning against his desk, his small, dark-blue eyes not really looking at them but at some distant point above their heads. Molly saw some students roll their eyes. "Some were somewhat satisfactory," he continued, and at once a brown-haired Slytherin boy began mockingly repeating his alliterative sentence, in a hushed voice. "But only... Miss Weasley's, really fit the mark," concluded Professor Munkwell, in a way that was far too cold for her taste.

"He's _swelling_ with pride," said fellow Ravenclaw Juliana Plunkett, low enough for the professor to miss it but loud enough for her classmates to hear her and snicker cruelly at Molly.

Molly's jaw tensed up, and she stood up straighter.

Professor Munkwell tapped his wand against the hourglass on his table, and gestured outwards. The second-year students flooded out of the dungeon, Molly included - and she took advantage of the crowd of students exiting the doorways to quietly cast a Langlock jinx on Juliana, affixing her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

 

**VICTOIRE**

 

Victoire was positively vibrating by the time Saturday came around. It had been a real challenge to get some sleep those past few days, but, on the other hand, she was so excited she barely felt hungry at all. She got up early on Saturday morning and went through her History of Magic reading as quickly as she could - though, if she were honest, she wouldn't really consider it "reading", since her mind was invariably occupied with other matters.

By the time most people started strolling out of the Great Hall, after lunch, she was already standing outside in one of Hogwarts snowy courtyards, hand resting on her satchel bag, trying to keep her feet still. She had considered putting on makeup - though she only owned a small tube of pink lip gloss - but decided otherwise, because she knew Teddy would notice, and she didn't want him to make fun of her silly little effort.

She had dressed up, though. She was wearing her very favourite dress, that she'd bought on her last holiday to France. It wasn't very revealing (it was a winter dress after all) but the wine-red fabric did hug her curves quite tightly. Victoire squirmed internally, wondering if it hugged her curves _too_ tightly.

"My, you're in a hurry!" said Amarantha, who had just come down the large flight of stairs with Lyssa McLaggen and Devona Aldrich.

"Lost track of time and thought I was late," lied Victoire, lamely. Amarantha shook her head, smiling.

"Anyway, as I was telling you," said Devona, who had apparently been interrupted by Amarantha and Victoire's exchange. "I asked Alpinia for her Ancient Runes notes, because, you know, I missed a class due to _being in the Hospital Wing for a stomach bug_ ," she emphasized. "And not only did she give me the snootiest look, but, when she actually _did_ give me the notes, the day after, they were wrong! I compared them to Eliana's notes just to make sure, because I had a feeling I couldn't trust her, and they were wrong!" said Devona, with a completely exasperated look. "I mean, I'm sorry, Victoire, I know she's your friend and all of that, but she is _such_ a nasty little sod."

"No, no need to apologise," replied Victoire, to her own displeasure. "I'm not really sure if I would call her a friend. I mean...she's nice, sometimes, but," she explained.

"Never been nice to me!" Devona complained, and Lyssa nodded her head in agreement. Alpinia was an unusually small girl who Victoire had tentatively befriended on her first year - only to have their friendship wither away, due to her other three friends' hostility towards her. She had understood the girls' unease; Alpinia could be really quite brusque with people she thought would antagonise her - which, in the girl's mind, was basically everyone. Still, Victoire didn't feel good about what had happened. It still sat in her memory like a fish bone stuck in her throat. And Devona really should have assumed that Alpinia wouldn't react well to being asked for favours by a girl who had cost her a friend. Even if it had been almost four years ago.

"Yeah, she's... she's a difficult one," concluded Victoire, eyes scanning the flow of students heading towards the carriages. No Teddy in sight. The chit-chat carried on without her.

"Well, we should be heading to the carriages now, it's almost time," announced Amarantha, nodding to the mass of students exiting the courtyard.

"You all go ahead, I'll join you in a minute. I really need to use the bathroom," replied Victoire. Amarantha furrowed her brows. "I'm desperate for a wee," she added.

"It's what all that rush will do to you," said Amarantha, with a motherly look of concern on her face. Victoire rolled her eyes internally.

"Right, well, see you in a bit then," said Lyssa. "Hurry up." The girls said goodbye to Victoire and went on their way.

 _Right, now I've got to go inside and hide in a corner like an idiot until they disappear from view_. She felt ridiculous for going through all that trouble. What did she even have in mind? It wasn't as if she'd be able to hide herself and Teddy from everybody's eyes in Hogsmeade. It was impossible. And really, what was she afraid of? They were only _three years_ apart. So what if people talked?

 _Those are some mighty brave thoughts for someone who's hiding in a corner_ , thought Victoire. She sighed. _Are they gone_? She peeked. _Yeah, gone_. Victoire ran back outside and looked around her. No students in sight - no Teddy in sight, either. She was starting to feel really nervous. Was he late? Was he even the sort of person to be late?

She stood on her tip toes, peeking at the carriages over ahead. It seemed the last students were going up. _Oh, bloody hell, fine_. Victoire took off running like her life depended on it. Teddy was probably just late and would show up to Hogsmeade by his own means in a little while. He could apparate, after all.

She never got to her friends' carriage, but she did manage to get on the last one in line. On it were also two Hufflepuff third years and a Gryffindor sixth year, neither of whom she knew the names of. _Better off this way_ , she thought. At least now she wouldn't have to come up with some excuse to visit Tomes and Scrolls without her friends.

The driverless carriage took off slowly. Though open and sound, Victoire's eyes failed completely to take in the moving scenery around her, as did her ears remain completely aloof to the Hufflepuffs' conversation. She hoped Teddy was alright. Merlin, she hoped she hadn't worn her favourite dress for nothing. She was starting to feel really cold.

After a brisk, half an hour ride, the carriages stopped at the far edge of Hogsmeade, in front of Haig's Blue Barn. It looked quite empty, as always. Victoire had never really seen the point of stopping near a barn, if the carriages had no horses pulling them. She supposed it was just a coincidence.

Hopping off without a second glance to her schoolmates, Victoire trudged through the snow with what she hoped was dignified grace. She needed to hurry, before her friends spotted her.

Thankfully, the ruckus made by the excited students was so great that she slipped away with great ease, making her way through Hogsmeade's lesser known streets. After a ten minute walk, which brought her body a welcomed warmth, she reached her destination: Tomes and Scrolls. There were a few people out and about on the streets, but no students yet; she had walked quite fast. And no Teddy. Victoire sighed. I'll wait, then.

And she did. Though the thought of her friends catching her did make her cringe with concern, Victoire waited on the bench next to Tomes and Scrolls for fourty five minutes - before someone finally came and talked to her.

It was Cadmus Foulds, a fellow Ravenclaw fourth year. Victoire would consider him a friend; he had always been nice to her.

"Victoire?" he asked. She looked at him, hands gripping on to the hem of her dress tightly. "What you doing sat there?"

"I'm waiting," she replied. "For a friend." No point in lying. No point in being any more specific, either.

"Oh. Well, Lyssa and I are going to try to sneak into Madam Rosmerta's. Plus a couple of other friends. I'm gonna meet them all there. Want to come with?" he asked, kindness plastered on his freckled, childish face.

Victoire felt her stomach sink. I bet I look like an absolute idiot right now. Still, she couldn't say anything but what she was about to say next. "No, that's alright. It's very kind of you. But I can't leave my friend stood up."

"Oh, okay. Well okay, then. If you change your mind, you know where we are. Feel free to join us," he insisted, with genuine care in his eyes.

Victoire nodded. "I will," she assured him. "See you."

"Bye," Cadmus said, and left - first unassuredly, then with a slight spring in his step.

Victoire let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding. She felt like a bloody fool, she thought, as tears welled up in her eyes. She looked at her watch. 4:05. The first ride back to Hogwarts was at 4:30. If she took her time walking back, she could arrive just on time.

So she did, though the cold deeply made her want to quicken her step. Thankfully, she didn't run into Amarantha, or Devona. They'd probably gone into Tomes and Scrolls just after Victoire left. At least there's _that_.

She arrived a minute early. There was only a Slytherin seventh year there, besides her. He had moppy, sandy blonde hair and a taciturn expression. A good thing, in this case, since Victoire was really not in the mood for conversation. The single carriage took off the second Victoire's watch struck 4:30. Victoire's head bobbed along as the vehicle made its way through the slightly bumpy ground. She felt a sadness come down upon her like molten lead. There was no more space for wishes or concerns in her head; only all-encompassing, deadweight silence. Even her legs had stopped shaking. When the carriage arrived at its destination, Victoire had to will them to move.

Slowly, she descended, climbing up the hill and walking in the courtyard she had left not too long ago. She wanted to go back to her dormitory, but a small part of her, which hadn't been smothered by silence in her sad thoughts, was angry at the idea of taking the huge turn she knew she had to take in order to get to Ravenclaw Tower.

There had to be another way, she thought, as she went down a corridor she didn't fully remember going down before. _I do know there are some stairs here_. The corridor was full of portraits, each grimmer and more moapy-looking than the last. It made her take a right turn, and then a left, and then right again - yet still no stairs in sight. And now she felt positively sure she didn't know where the corridor lead. A tiny part of her felt like laughing at the stupidity of her situation. But the rest of her didn't.

She hear some sound coming from further up ahead - voices! One male and one female, it would seem. She walked carefully forward.

She could see it now: there was a broom closet not ten feet from her. The voices were getting clearer. And one of them, she realised with sudden dread, was Teddy's.

"Bloody hell, Marnie, I didn't take you for a vampire," he said, and Victoire heard the sound of kissing.

"Oh, shut up, Teddy, you know you like it," the girl said. Victoire felt like throwing up.

"I'm," Teddy started. "I'm not sure if I do. But I do like this," he said, pulling her head up and kissing her fiercely on the lips. The girl called Marnie moaned into his lips, and Victoire took off running. She was back in the empty courtyard faster than she could realise. The part of her that was too shocked to act quickly fell apart, and Victoire began sobbing, covering her face with her freezing hands.


	6. Chapter 6

**MOLLY**

 

The Great Hall was cold, that Monday afternoon, and filled with scattered buzz. Molly sat at the corner of Ravenclaw table closest to the teacher's dais, and had exchanged her usual, pin-straight posture for a slightly slouched, uninviting stance. Though several days had passed, the ring of her classmate's cruel laughs still tore at her eardrums, making her wish she could pull at her red hair with so much force that the Scottish hills would swallow her up and leave no trace behind. Nothing worked, _nothing WORKS_! she thought.

 _I did all I could to master the potion, I mastered the potion_ , her inner rambling continued, as she dug her thumb nail on the shaft of her quill, _and all I got was a "really fit the mark" and mockery, cruel, stupid, troll-brained mockery_!

Though tempting, the urge to quit her suplementary lessons with Victoire was quickly snuffed out of existence by Molly's domineering ambition _. They'll not get the best of me_. And she'd get proper recognition out of her Potions Master yet. She just needed Victoire to really push her into shape.

Molly's small, dark-green eyes searched for her cousin's fair head along the Ravenclaw row. She quickly saw that her cousin was sitting almost at the opposite end of the table, quietly scribbling away. Taking the care to put all her possessions back in her bag, Molly walked over to her cousin, wary of any unwelcomed quip.

"Victoire," Molly said, sitting next to her. Her cousin was startled at the sound, but her eyes softened at the familiar sight of the redheaded girl.

"Hello, Molly," she replied.

Molly gave a curt nod. "I need you to..." she began, but was soon interrupted by an out-of-the-blue Teddy Lupin, who was standing apologetically in front of them, with a loose Hufflepuff tie and his hand shoved in his disheveled, gaudy hair.

"Hey, Vic," he began, waiting to see if Victoire replied accordingly. Seeing she had not, he continued, "I'm really sorry about the other day. I went out flying with Barlow that morning and he got mad at me for scoring three points in a row, so the bastard jinxed me," he said, with a short, unnatural laugh. "I spent the whole weekend in the Hospital Wing with disgusting boils all over my body. By the time I could move, it was already dark outside," he explained. Victoire remained silent, blue orbs fixed on his strained self. "I'm really sorry."

She smiled, tight-lipped. "That's perfectly alright," she said, and Molly furrowed her brows. "You have nothing to apologise for. Plus, I ended up going with Cadmus anyway," Victoire said, shoving her belongings inside her satchel. "Have a nice day," she wished him, swinging out of the stool and walking out with short, rapid footsteps.

Teddy seemed at a loss for words. _For once in his life_ , Molly thought. "Who's Cadmus?" he finally asked.

"Fourth year Ravenclaw," Molly spat out, and followed her cousin out of the Great Hall.

 

**JAMES**

James sat with his cousins by the Great Lake, soaking up the precious afternoon sun. An unfortunate accident during a Defense Against the Dark Arts class had released a ravenous, untamable Gytrash out onto the Castle, so all students had been banished from the building for that afternoon, while the professors hunted the enormous white beast down. James, of course, had been absolutely heart-broken at having to exchange his History of Magic class for a hillside stroll and some sun-bathing by the Lake.

Dominique sighed contently. "A nice change, after all this cold," she said, sprawled lazily on the grass with her eyes closed. The remark was met with half-mumbled _yeahs_. The cousins shared their peaceful moment in silence.

That is, until James finally voiced a thought that had been hanging in the back of his head. "So are we going to get back at Calderon or what?"

"Oh, bloody hell," Fred said, rolling his eyes.

"James!" said Dominique, chastising him.

"Honestly, I agree with him," pitch in Roxanne.

"See!" James exclaimed.

"What d'you mean, you agree with him?" asked Fred.

"Well!" his little sister began. "He was rude! Very rude, to you, to James and to me. He's a tosser."

"A tosser! No less," agreed James.

"He was incredibly mean-spirited," Dominique admitted.

"Well don't go joining them!" protested Fred. "Next thing you know we'll be chucking fireworks down his pants and then BOOM. We're all dead," he prophesied. "Or worse, expelled."

"Oh but you must admit," Dominique retorted, "you must admit that one, he is a tosser, and two, he does probably kind of deserve some sort of comeback."

Fred wasn't budging an inch.

"His name's great for it, too," James added. "We've already got Tim the Dim, that's a classic, and we can bank on that, but there's so many other possibilities. Timothy The Great Brass Calderon, for example," he said, elliciting hearty laughs from Dominique and Roxanne, and even a timid smile from Fred. "A great addition to any chemistry set."

"Well, what an actual, _mature_ person would do, if anything, is go have a talk with him and give him a piece of his mind," said Fred, with traces of a smile still on his lips.

"Then why don't you?" asked Dominique, and Fred's eyes bulged, slightly, as if he couldn't believe he'd fallen straight into _that_.

"Well..." he said.

"Chicken," mumbled James, earning himself a smack from Dominique.

"No, really. Why not?" Dominique continued. "It does sound pretty reasonable. So why not?"

Fred frowned, sighing unhappily. After a silence of a few moments, he finally acquiesced. "Yeah, you're right. _I'm_ right," he corrected himself. "I'm always bloody right."

"So you're going to talk to him?" asked Roxanne.

"Yeah..." Fred conceded, resigned with his fate. "After Quidditch practice, most likely. Hope he doesn't kick me off the team."

"Oh, he won't," said Dominique. "The rest of the team won't let him."

"What about Addison?" asked Roxanne, addressing Dominique.

"Yeah, what _about_ Addison?" followed Fred.

"Oh, I've no problem getting back at him," she said. "I'll jinx him next time I see him in the hallways. D'you know he cried _sexism_ , at try-outs? Because Abelia Smith picked me as the Chaser and not him?"

"What?!" asked Roxanne, perplexed.

"Absolute tosser," said Dominique.

"Well he's just mad you're better than him," said James.

"Yeah, obviously," agreed Dominique. "Hope the Gytrash bites him in the arse."

Fred laughed. "That would be a sight to see."

*

 

James and Roxanne were snuggly wrapped in thick wollen blankets playing wizard's chess in the Gryffindor Common Room, some generic Celestina Warbeck song playing softly in the background, when the issue of their Quidditch fiasco finally came up again. To James' surprise, he didn't even have to be the one to bring it up.

"I think we flew pretty well during try-outs," Roxanne commented, coily, moving a pawn to A6.

"Yeah," James agreed. "Calderon's a dick," he added, in a lower tone.

Roxanne nodded, knowingly. "So you know how..." she began. "You know how he didn't want to let Fred in, but he had to, because the rest of the team thought Fred was great?"

"Yeah?" James knew where she was going with this but figured he'd let her come to it unassisted.

"Well... What if it was the same with us?" she asked, earnestly, and raised her eyes from the chess board. "What if they all liked us, but _bloody Calderon_ convinced them not to let us in because we're first years?"

James raised his eyes from the board as well. "I don't think it's an _if_. I think that's definitely what happened."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," James said, nodding.

"Well... So do you think we should do something about it?"

James smiled, resting his hands dramatically on each side of the chess board. "Thought you'd never ask."

 

 

 

**VICTOIRE**

 

 

Sitting on the large sofa facing the tallest windows, in the Ravenclaw Common Room, was one of Victoire's favourite things to do - especially if it was raining outside. Which it was, that night. The cosiness she felt and the pleasant sound of rain droplets against the window panes would have provided her some small comfort were it not for the incessant chit-chat of three fellow fourth years across from her, who were sitting on the armchairs next to the large bookcase. As much as she tried, she couldn't focus enough to actually understand the obscure Herbology book she had in her hands. It also didn't help that her mind kept nagging at her with guilt and embarrassment over the whole talking-to-Teddy-in-front-of-Molly situation. Though she had apologised (to Molly, that was).

She couldn't really bring herself to feel too mad about the ruckus, though, since one of the noise makers was Cadmus, whose kind gesture she still remembered. But she did wish he'd quiet down.

"How the bloody hell did you manage to sneak that in?" said one of them, pointing to a bag on the floor. A girl, with very long, straight brown hair and small, close-set blue eyes.

"Secrets of the trade," answered a rather tall boy, whose back was turned to Victoire. She propped herself up on the sofa discretely, to see what was inside the bag. An enormous bottle of what seemed like Firewhiskey to her. The real kind; not the kind Uncle Ron made for them on family dinners.

"So when d'you reckon we should do it?" asked Cadmus, in a whisper that was still loud enough for Victoire to hear.

"Definitely Friday or Saturday. I'm telling you, mate, you do not want to sit in a Potions class hungover from this," said the tall boy.

Cadmus laughed. "Yeah, I suppose I don't."

"Friday then. I've got Quidditch practice on Sunday morning," proposed the girl.

"Wait. I've got choir practice Saturday morning," said Cadmus.

"Oh bloody hell, can't you skip it?" asked the girl.

"Hey! I like frog choir!" Cadmus insisted. "I'd rather skip Potions on Monday."

"Well make up your damn minds, mates," the other boy said.

"Right, fine, shit! Sunday night it is, then," the girl acquiesced. "I'd rather be hungover during Potions than during Quidditch practice."

"Why not skip it?" asked Cadmus.

"I like Potions."

Cadmus shrugged, as if this were a defect in taste that simply could not be helped.

The tall boy sighed. "Alright. Guess I'll be skipping Potions too, then. It would be right shit if I were hungover," he laughed. "Right, so we'll meet here on Sunday at midnight. If any of you are late, I'll just assume you've fallen asleep and I'll go without you. Is that clear?" the boy asked.

"Oh, shut up, Jones, no one's going to fall asleep," said the girl.

"Where will we drink it, though? Without getting caught?" asked Cadmus.

"The Astronomy Tower," said Jones.

"The Astronomy Tower?!" asked Cadmus.

"Yeah! It's got a nice view!" the tall boy replied.

Victoire felt the need to intervene. "If you get drunk in the Astronomy Tower, you're going to fall to your death," she explained, and the three students looked at her with what she thought was comical surprise. "You should do it in an empty classroom, obviously, and perform an Imperturbable Charm. The Muggle Studies classroom is usually pretty ignored, I think. You should do it there," she concluded. "Just a suggestion," Victoire added.

"A bloody good suggestion," said the girl, nodding her head in approval. "Thanks."

"Anytime." She turned her attention back to her book.

"Would you like," began Cadmus, and Victoire raised her eyes again. "Would you like to come with?"

"What, me?"

"Yeah!"

It was an absolutely terrible idea. She'd get a howler if her mother ever found out. Then again, she'd get a howler if her mother found out about a lot of things. Well, why not, then?

"Yeah, alright."

"Wicked!" exclaimed Cadmus. "Right then, meet us here at midnight on Sunday." Victoire nodded. "Goodnight," he said, as he and his friends got up to leave.

"Goodnight," she replied.

As they exited the Common Room, Victoire was pretty sure she heard Jones say "You sure we can trust her, mate?", but she never heard Cadmus' reply. Victoire was sometimes really quite puzzled at how some people even ended up in Ravenclaw in the first place.


End file.
